


Jumping to Conclusions

by Pythia (Mythichistorian)



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5058235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythichistorian/pseuds/Pythia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even Heroes can disagree on some things. Like what to wear. What to have for dinner. And where to stay for the night ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was raining. Not in the soft, soothing way that rain falls in late summer, washing heat from the air, nor with the fresh, bright impact of spring showers. No, it was _raining_ \- a solid sluice of water from lowering sky to earth, covering the world in a dismal curtain that obscured the approaching evening and brought with it the feel of night long before it was due.

The two men who had trudged through that curtain for most of the day were still a long way from their intended destination. The bad weather had done a lot more than delay them. It had soaked into their bones, chafed at their spirits and worn down both stamina and patience until the only thing that had kept them going was sheer stubborn determination. They’d been traveling through wilderness and bad weather for several days and the small town in which they now found themselves had loomed out of the landscape like a gift from the gods - which, in the case of _these_ two, was a suspect recommendation at best. 

"Uh - Iolaus?" Hercules’ voice was wary. 

"Yeah?"

"Are you suggesting - we stay _here_ for the night?" 

"Am I - ?" Iolaus turned to give him a look of bemused astonishment. Heavy droplets of water flicked from his sodden locks \- the ones that weren’t currently plastered to his face and scalp by the onslaught of the rain. "Herc - are your ears full of water or something? I said, ‘Hey, this place looks warm, dry and welcoming. Let’s stay here.’ What part of that didn’t you get?" 

Hercules heaved a small sigh. "I _got_ it. I just don’t see how you could be serious." 

" _Serious?"_ The hunter rolled his eyes with exasperation. "Listen buddy - it’s pouring with rain, right? The same rain that’s been following us ever since we left Thalecia three days ago. I am cold, I am soaked to the skin, and I’m looking straight at a warm fire, a hot meal and a roof over my head. I am _not_ taking another step - unless it’s through that door and out of this miserable weather." 

"That door?" The son of Zeus frowned at the item in question; it was a heavy well made barrier, undoubtedly constructed out of oak, studded with huge metal nails, and set in an ornately carved frame. Above it someone had hung a brightly painted sign, which was partially illuminated by the feeble flicker of a torch which stood at one side of the door. The light was somehow still managing to burn fitfully, despite the downpour. The sign announced the place to be ‘The House of Elysium’, a declaration supported by the muffled sounds of music and merriment which were managing to escape through the barred and shuttered windows into the street. "You want us to walk through _that_ door and ask for rooms for the night?" 

Iolaus heaved a sigh of his own. A tight one, symptomatic of a man getting a little to close to losing his patience. "Yes," he declared firmly. "Preferably _before_ I catch pneumonia. You got a problem with that?" 

"Yes," Hercules shot back, not that far off impatience himself. "I have a problem with that. Iolaus - this isn’t an inn, or a tavern. It’s a - " 

"Whorehouse," the hunter completed for him, matter of factly. "Which undoubtedly means its got the most comfortable rooms, the best food - and probably the only hot bath in town. Okay," he acknowledged, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, "that probably also means it’s gonna be more _expensive_ than the average inn, but - " 

"Iolaus," his partner interrupted sternly. "I am _not_ spending the night - _any_ night - in a brothel. Rain or no rain." Lightning flickered overhead as he spoke; the soft peal of thunder which followed it heralded a renewal of the weather’s vicious onslaught. Iolaus cursed and leapt for the dubious shelter of the narrow porch - then muttered a second soft oath and reached out to tug his friend in to join him, just as the hail began to hit the street. 

"How ‘bout the hail?" he muttered, half under his breath. Hercules frowned at him. 

"I know you’re tired," he said, offering the information with tight irritation. "I know you’re cold. And I _know_ you’re hungry. _But -_ " he went on firmly, ignoring the way the bedraggled man beside him had nodded a sarcastic acknowledgement of each pointed statement, "that does _not_ mean that you and I have to seek sanctuary in a - a house of ill-repute!" 

_House of ill-repute_ , Iolaus mouthed, parroting the protest with an exasperated glance towards the heavens. Lightning flared across the sky, the rumble of thunder seeming to agree with his dismissive assessment of _that_ argument. 

" _You_ stay out of it," Hercules snapped, glancing up to glare at the weather. "Iolaus - " 

" _Herc_ \- " the hunter interrupted with heartfelt entreaty. "Come _on_. Hot food. Warm fire. Soft beds ..." 

"With softer occupants," the sodden son of Zeus noted pointedly. "Which is _not_ an attraction," he added, his voice sharp. Iolaus was trying to look innocent - a look which wouldn’t fool a stranger, let alone his best friend. "Look - these places are _dangerous_. They exploit desperate women, they exploit even more desperate men, and once they’ve taken your money, you’re more than likely to get your throat cut in the middle of the night. You walk in there - and you’re practically condoning slavery. Money for company. You ‘come on’, Iolaus. You can’t seriously expect me to approve of places that degrade and defile things that ought to be a gift of the heart. The women that work here should be sent home to their families - allowed decent lives." 

"Decent lives, huh?" The hunter’s expression had dropped into an obstinate frown. "With husbands who beat them? Forced into loveless marriages by fathers who see them as no more than a burden on their pockets? Trapped in hum-drum lives of drudgery, or driven out onto the streets ... Herc - you don’t know _anything_ about these places, or the kind of women that work in them. Okay, so some of them _do_ exploit the desperate \- but a lot more of them are sanctuaries. Places to escape _to_ , not from. Look - I know Alcmene brought you up well, and in a perfect world nobody would need money and we’d all get by on good will and honest trust. But there’d still be places where people would go to find a little fun, enjoy a little freedom \- and not have to worry about the rest of the world. Just - just take a chance here. Step in the door. If it’s the kind of place you’re talking about, then we’ll turn round and walk straight out again. But if it isn’t - then you and I are out of the rain, and we’ll have a good time. I promise you." 

Hercules shook his head. "You don’t get it," he said. "I don’t approve of these places and I’m not staying in one just because _you_ want to get out of the rain. There’ll be a perfectly good inn somewhere in town. We won’t get that much wetter finding it." 

" _Wetter_ , no," Iolaus agreed, sweeping a hand through his hair and wincing as the gesture sent an ice-cold stream of water down his shoulder and back. "Miserable, _yes_. You’re right. I’m cold, I’m tired, I’m hungry - and I can smell roast pork and orange sauce - and I am _not_ walking away from that just because you’ve got a prudish streak and have had a sudden fit of morals. Go _on_ ," he ordered, waving his hand at the darkened world and the sharp lancing arrows of the torrential rain. "You wanna find a quiet, homely inn, you go ahead. I’m staying _right_ here - or rather, right in _there_ ," he corrected, jabbing his finger towards the door. "And if I get my throat cut in the night you can come back tomorrow and say ‘I told you so.’" 

"That your final word?" 

"Yeah." 

"Okay." 

"Okay." 

They glared at each other for a moment longer, one with irked impatience, the other with stubborn defiance - then Hercules heaved a tight sigh and strode back out into the rain, hunching his shoulders and muttering a little under his breath as he went. Iolaus watched him pace away, his expression softening a little; a flicker - not of doubt, but wary hesitancy - chased across his features, and then he heaved a sigh of his own, turned and pushed open the door. 

* * *

_Why is he so **stubborn**_ _sometimes?_ Hercules wondered irritatedly as he trudged down the hill into what looked like the town square. The hail had painted the street with a coating of white icy cobbles which the rain was now busy dissolving into the mud, while rivers of dirty water were cutting their way into the slope of the hill, gouging channels in front of the few well shuttered houses that made up this side of the town. _Why would he possibly think that **I’d** want to stay in a place like that?_

Actually, he knew why. But he was too annoyed to consider the answer with anything other than exasperation. Just because _Iolaus_ enjoyed the kind of indulgent pleasures that the ‘House of Elysium’ might be offering didn’t mean _he_ had to - and the hunter still ought to know better than to walk into an establishment like that without checking it, or its inhabitant’s, reputation. Hercules was weary to the bone; cold, miserable, and crotchety with it. The last thing he needed right then was rowdy company, the unwanted attentions of lascivious women, or the kind of decadent entertainment that his partner seemed to find amusing. 

Besides, he never felt comfortable in that sort of place. He was always too aware of what kind of things went on in back rooms and how uneasy the whole arrangement made him feel. The interactions between men and women were - to him - a deeply private and personal matter, not something for semi-public show, and _definitely_ not something for sale. No matter how good the wine, how talented the dancers, how excellent the food, or how enticing a hot bath and a soft bed might be. 

Which was, he gritted his teeth and tried hard not to admit, getting more and more enticing the longer he trudged through the mud. 

_There has to be an inn around here somewhere ..._

Fortunately for his temper - and his currently offended sense of moral sensibilities - the sort of place he had in mind was not far away. A sturdy wooden building, some three stories high, with white washed walls and chinks of warm welcoming light escaping through its shutters, loomed out of the dark on the far side of the square. A crudely painted sign offered, board, lodging and stable facilities; the place had a well worn but respectable air. 

_Now this is more like it_ , Hercules decided, hurrying the rest of the distance and pushing open the door. Warm air, scented with slightly stale ale, wood smoke, damp leather, and unwashed bodies swirled out to greet him. It wasn’t the sweetest of scents, but it was no worse than most taverns offered in similar weather, and the hint of something cooking made his stomach rumble. 

"Come in, stranger," a friendly voice called. "Shut the door, find yourself a place to sit and be welcomed. I’ll be right with you." 

* * *

_Why is he so **stubborn**_ _sometimes?_ Iolaus asked himself resignedly, answering the question with a small sigh and a shake of his head. _Because he’s Hercules, that’s why._

Hercules - who had a strong sense of moral standards, who’d been brought up to be a perfect gentleman - and who, in so many ways, did not take after his Father at _all._ Zeus, the hunter decided, pausing in the wood paneled lobby which lay on the other side of the door, would just _love_ the House of Elysium. Lively music was tumbling out of the main room, accompanied by the soft buzz of voices, and a warm swirling scent which was mostly incense, although there were hints of more earthy perfumes underlying it. There were two nubile figures flanking the lattice carving of the inner door, both sculpted from wood, both painted and gilded and both posed with deliberate invitation, beckoning the visitor in with sensual smiles. Then there was the mosaic floor beneath his feet - one onto which his sodden clothing was currently dripping a growing pool of water. At first glance it was a simple pattern of red, white and black tessarae laid close together in a series of flowing lines. But, if you let your eye follow the lines and squinted just _so_ .... Iolaus broke into an amused grin and tilted his head over to one side to take in the full effect; a part of him was admiring the artistry, while the rest of him was busy trying to decide if that particular combination of limbs and other body parts was actually _possible_. 

"She’s double jointed," a deep and sultry voice observed with confident amusement. "And _very_ athletic. You’ve got a good eye. Most people miss the image the first time they see it." 

Iolaus looked up. The inner door had been swung back and a woman now stood in the opening. A mature, self-assured woman, well gifted with curves and utterly drenched in dark red silk and glimmers of gold. Her hair - which was thick and lustrous, despite the scattering of silver through its black depths - had been piled high on her head, leaving ornate ringlets hanging down on either side. Her face was painted with admirable expertise; soft white and purple shadows highlighted her dark eyes, while her lips were a deep, glossy cherry red - as tempting as the fruit they imitated. 

"Ah - yeah," he agreed, unable to help staring at her. She was worth staring _at_ , for all she was probably old enough to be his mother. His mother had _never_ looked like that. "Uh - it’s a nice piece of work." 

"You’re not so bad yourself," the woman noted, running her eyes up and down his bedraggled frame with calculating assessment. "Even if you do look a little like a half drowned rat." She smiled, letting him know she was teasing, and the look warmed him - all the way down to his soul. "Welcome to Elysium, hero," she purred, beckoning him forward. "My name is Helena. This is my place. And - just like Charon, I charge a little silver, just to cross the threshold ..." 

She lifted her hand and turned it over, a supple, sensual gesture that presented her palm towards him with expectant certainty. He stared at it for a moment, fascinated by the way the torchlight glimmered off her jewelry, then realised what she meant and grimaced with chagrin. "Oh - yeah. Sure." He hastily dug his hand into his belt pouch and came up with a clatter of coins, several of which immediately slipped though his rain slicked fingers. "Oh - " He caught back the curse which had sprung to mind, threw the woman an apologetic glance and started to dip down, intending to recover his strewn bounty. She reached out and stopped him, her touch lifting him back to his feet. 

"Let it lie," she laughed. "It’s been a long time since anyone threw gold at my feet. Consider it a gift to Aphrodite. Perhaps she’ll bless you tonight." 

Iolaus swallowed a small snort at the thought. Aphrodite’s ‘blessings’ tended to be double edged at best, and downright hazardous the rest of the time; he didn’t begrudge donating a little gold to propitiate her good will in a place like this - but he rather hoped the gift didn’t draw her personal attention. "Maybe," he allowed with a grin. "But to be honest, what I’m looking for is a good meal, a hot bath - and a comfortable bed. Will uh - that cover it?" His glance towards his scattered riches earned him a knowing smile. 

"Maybe," Helena echoed. The smile widened into quiet amusement. "Meal is on the house. Ale and wine you’ll have to pay for as you drink it. That’ll cover a bath - with an attendant if you want one - and - uh - I won’t kick you out tonight if all you want is a roof over your head until sunrise. As for a bed - well, that’s negotiable. With the owners of the beds concerned." 

_That seems reasonable ..._

"Okay," Iolaus nodded affably. He leant sideways a little, peering past her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the swirl of light and colour that filled the room beyond. "Anything else I need to know?" 

"House rules?" she noted, sounding impressed. "A few. But not many people ask for them up front. I like your style, hero. What’s your name?" 

He hesitated for a moment, briefly wondering if revealing his name was a sensible thing to do - then grinned at his own idiocy. He had no reason for secrecy; he wasn’t in the least bit ashamed about standing where he was - and he certainly wasn’t ashamed of his name. 

Or the reputation that went along with it, come to that. 

"I’m Iolaus," he announced confidently, backing the admission with a smile. 

She tried it out, rolling the syllables around her tongue and savouring them with sensuous lips. He’d never heard his name spoken quite like that before. It sounded good. Almost _too_ good, in fact. "That one’s worth remembering," Helena purred, clearly aware - and amused by - his reaction. "House rules. You leave your sword at the door, your politics at home, and you take your manners in with you. You treat the girls with respect and they’ll return the favour. If they like your approach they’ll let you know - and if the answer’s no, you take it." She paused to rake her eyes up the length of him, not missing an inch, and he coloured a little under his tan. The look had been appreciative - and its directness was decidedly disconcerting. "Although," she concluded confidently, "if you clean up as nicely as I _think_ you will - I might have to get them to draw lots." She laughed and stepped back, waving him into her kingdom with a generous hand. "Come in," she said warmly, "and make yourself at home." 

* * *

"Sorry to keep you waiting." 

The innkeeper was a broad shouldered man, with an open, honest face. There was a sprinkling of gray in his short dark hair, and his face had a weathered, well lived in look to it. For all that, he cut a handsome figure under his rumpled apron; his arms were muscled and brawny and he moved with quiet assurance, projecting an air of confidence. _An ex-soldier_ , Hercules assessed, thoughtfully. He could see there’d be no trouble with rowdy customers while this man was in charge. 

"No need to apologise," he said. "I’m just glad to be in out of the rain." 

He’d seen as soon as he’d entered the common room that the innkeeper was busy with other customers, and he’d taken the opportunity to find a warm spot, close to the fire. Steam was curling gently from his shirt and jerkin, and - much to his embarrassment - water had been dripping from his leathers to form a small pool at his feet. The innkeeper laughed. 

"Aren’t we all," he grinned. "Don’t worry about getting the floor wet. It gets mopped down every morning and a little more water won’t do it any harm. You look like you could do with some dry clothes though ..." He paused to look his customer up and down with a thoughtful frown. "You just here for a drink, or you looking for a room?" 

"Room," Hercules replied. "And - uh - something to eat, if that’s possible. It’s been a long day." 

"Food and board." The innkeeper nodded agreeably. "Think we can manage that. Tell you what - I’ve probably got a clean shirt somewhere that would keep the chill from your back for a while. How about I show you the room and get the boy to bring up the shirt and bowl of hot water so’s you can clean up a bit? Before supper." 

"Sounds good." Hercules decided, backing his nod of acknowledgement with a smile of gratitude. It was a generous offer and one made without conditions or expectations either. "Thanks." 

"No problem. The - uh - room’ll be five dinars for the night. Supper’s included, but if you want ale, you’ll have to pay the difference." 

"Oh - yeah ..." The sodden hero looked vaguely mortified. He fumbled for the money pouch behind his belt, hoping he’d find enough in it to cover the bill. Truth was, Iolaus usually took care of things like that - but there was no way he was going to trudge back up the hill, just to ask his partner for a loan. 

"Excuse me?" A weathered looking man -who was wearing an equally well weathered robe over his sturdy travelling clothes - had paused on his way across the common room to stare at the man warming himself by the fire. "Aren’t you Hercules? Yes - yes, you are! I was in Thalia - when you brought in that warlord ... what was his name? Acrestis. That was it. Acrestis the Plundererer. You waylaid his band, brought him to trial ... He’d razed several villages and you - you took him on single handedly!" 

"No - no, not quite," Hercules denied, decidedly embarrassed by the man’s effusiveness. The incident in Thalia had been over a year ago - and he’d hardly brought Acrestis in single handedly. Iolaus had been the one who’d tracked the renegade to his well concealed lair - and he’d been a vital pivot in the plan to bring, not just the warlord, but his entire band to justice. True it _had_ been Hercules who’d dragged Acrestis in front of the King, but only because his friend had been following behind with the rest of the thugs and ruffians in tow. "I had help - my partner ..." 

"This is _incredible_ , Nathan!" The merchant completely ignored the protestation, turning towards the innkeeper with enthusiasm. "Hercules himself - standing under your roof - here in Iphrus of all places. Hey - " he realised, giving the open mouthed Nathan an admonitory tap. "You weren’t about to _charge_ him were you? This is _Hercules_. The son of Zeus? The guy that fought the titans? Sailed on the Argo? Killed the hydra? Turned Xena from evil to good?" 

"Ah - " Hercules put up his hands to halt the verbal tide. This was the aspect of the hero business that he really hated. He didn’t do what he did to earn acclaim. Okay, so he’d done a few things of note - but not _that_ many. Besides - none of the things the man had mentioned so far had been entirely his doing. "Look, I - " 

"Hercules, huh?" Nathan had got over his initial astonishment and reassumed his quiet gruff composure. "How ‘bout that? Well, of course I wouldn’t _dream_ of charging you. Room, board, all the ale you want - it’s on the house." 

"Yeah - umm - " the hero grimaced uncomfortably. He didn’t want the man to be out of pocket - but neither did he want to seem ungrateful for his generosity. "I wouldn’t want to ..." 

"That’s settled then," the innkeeper decided, clapping a friendly hand to his guest’s arm. "You feel free to stay as long as you want. Clellus? " he called over his shoulder. "Clellus - my boy - he’ll show you the room, get you whatever you need, okay?" 

"Okay," Hercules agreed resignedly, realising the matter was settled whether he wanted to argue or not. "Thanks." 

"You’re welcome," Nathan grinned. " _Hercules_ ," he muttered at the merchant as he chivvied him away. "In _my_ inn. Whatever next?" 

* * *

_This is the life ..._

Iolaus stretched out his legs, sank a little lower into the sweetly perfumed bath water, and heaved a contented sigh. The heat and the steam were soaking the chill out of his bones - and the supple fingers which were busy massaging their way across his shoulders and neck were working subtle miracles all of their own. "Ahhh," he breathed, rolling his head to one side so that attentive hands could reach just the right spot. "That feels good. You wanna take it a little lower?" 

"Sure." The woman’s voice was soft and sensual; a voice laced with promise and just a hint of laughter. Her dark fingers slid down the line of his throat and dipped briefly below the waterline, returning to trail lines of moisture up over his shoulders and then down between his shoulder blades. "Down here?" 

She pressed in, applying determined pressure to his spine and he arched under the contact, squirming against a sudden shiver that held just a _little_ pain - and a whole lot of something else. "Ah! Hey ..." 

"Easy..." she murmured, her lips hovering at his left ear. "Just relax, okay? I know you only paid for the bath. This is \- a little extra on the house. Been a while since I had a warrior’s muscles under my thumbs. Most of my clients - well," she laughed, "let’s just say - ah - profitable merchants don’t think much of exercise, tax collectors aren’t much more than bone, and hardworking farmers ... they work _too_ hard. How’s that?" 

"Ohhhhh ..." _That_ was better. Much better. "Where did a girl like you pick _that_ little trick up?" 

"I wasn’t always a girl like me," she answered knowingly. "There." She gave him a friendly pat on the cheek and rose gracefully to her feet. He watched as she shimmied around the curve of the half sunken bath, admiring the way she moved; an animal slink beneath the soft drape of blue silk that cascaded over her shoulders and down past her hips. It covered everything it should - and yet left very little to the imagination. "I’d better get the towels. You can’t hog the bath all night." She paused, halfway across the room and looked back with a tantalising smile. "Unless you want to pay to do just that, of course ..." 

It was tempting. It was _very_ tempting. But the hollow space in his stomach - combined with an acute awareness of just how little coin remained in his money pouch - reminded him that he had dinner waiting. And he hadn’t seen the rest of the delights this place had to offer yet. "Thanks," he smiled. "But no thanks." 

"Your loss," she shrugged, not in the least put out by the rejection. She pulled a towel off the pile beside the huge copper boiler which dominated the back of the bath house and began to sort through the jars and vials stacked on the shelves beside it. "Sandalwood or Cedar?" 

"Mmm? Oh - ah - sandalwood I guess." The choice was reassuring. The last time he’d done something like this he’d come out smelling of jasmine - and Hercules had teased him about it for days. Thinking of his partner lifted a wry grin to his features. He’d undoubtedly have found a place for the night - and probably a very nice place too, all homespun practicality, family values and homebrewed ale - but he just didn’t know what he was missing. 

The grin got a little wider. The trouble was Hercules probably thought he _did_ know - and would be feeling pretty righteous about it right now. Which just showed how wrong he could be sometimes ... 

Iolaus laughed and slid back to immerse himself completely in the luxuriant warmth of the bath, reaching a hand to sluice the dankness of three filthy days on the trail out of his hair. He re-emerged with a gasp, shaking his unruly mane and eliciting a squeal of laughter from his attendant, who’d been close enough to be caught by the resulting sprinkle of droplets. 

"Hey," she protested. "If I wanted a free shower I’d go for a walk outside." 

"No, you wouldn’t," he giggled in return. "Believe me - I’ve been out there." 

"Yeah," she acknowledged, her eyes flicking to where he’d left his gear. "I noticed. You want me to put that stuff somewhere it can dry and air? The House can lend you a robe for the evening." 

He thought about it. The idea of crawling back into damp leathers was not an appealing one. "Sure. Why not? I wasn’t planning to go anywhere before morning." 

"That right?" Her dark eyes sparkled with sudden speculation. "Then you’ll be looking for a bed for the night ..." 

The invitation was unmistakable, but he knew better than to leap for the first offer on the table. That look might be genuine attraction \- or it could just be a mercenary gleam summoned at the thought of easy cash. Despite what his best friend undoubtedly thought, he preferred his bed partners to return a nights desire with an appetite equal to his own - even if the arrangement was merely a temporary one. He liked to get to know them a _little_ \- and if they didn’t want to do the same, he wasn’t really going to be that interested. Which meant it wouldn’t be that much fun, either. 

"Maybe," he extemporised, not wanting to reject her out of hand. He rolled over and hoiked himself up, resting his elbows on the each of the bath so that he could get a better look at her. She was worth looking at. "So - whatda they call you around here?" 

"Around here?" She threw him a surprised glance, acknowledging the way he’d phrased the question with a nod of amused approval. Even then she hesitated. Names made it personal; even nicknames. "Sapphire." She held his eyes for a beat and then asked, a slight note of challenge in her voice: "How about you?" 

He grinned. "I’m Iolaus," he announced, letting the grin widen a little as he added; "Maybe you’ve heard of me ..." 

Sapphire shrugged and shook her head. "Name doesn’t ring a bell," she said. "Should it?" 

_Should it?_

He often wondered that, watching the way people reacted to his _partner’s_ name. He wasn’t in the hero business for glory and adulation, but sometimes - just _sometimes_ \- it would be nice to find his reputation had proceeded him. 

_Herc, Jason, Xena - they’re the ones who’ll become legends. Feature in books and get immortalised in song and story . Me? I’ll be lucky to get a footnote somewhere ..._

"Doesn’t matter," he decided philosophically. The gods knew his name - and that was a double edged gift no matter _which_ way you looked at it. "I’ve been around, that’s all." 

She laughed softly, lifting her hand to dangle the towel just a little out of decent reach. If he wanted it, he was going to have to stand up to get it. "That so?" she teased. "Oh good. I like a man with experience ..." 

* * *

_Now, what could be better than this?_

Hercules draped the rough linen towel around his shoulders and strode across to the window, opening the shutters to let in a little air, and taking a look at the world outside. It was still raining, although the heavy downpour had eased into a damp persistence that was probably now set in until morning. Nathan’s inn was the tallest building in the town square, and the room he’d assigned his latest guest lay high up among the eaves; the window looked out across practically the whole of Iphrus - and included a view of the other three story house on the hill at the end of town. Dusk lay heavy behind the clouds and beneath them both the town lay draped in a cloak of miserable gloom. The House of Elysium looked to be no exception to that, although Hercules knew only too well that looks can be deceptive. 

He sighed, shook his head, and closed the shutters, banishing both the view and the misery of the day from sight and mind alike. In contrast to the pervading misery of the outside world, his room was bright, cheery and decidedly welcoming. The whitewashed walls threw back the flicker of candlelight . There was a quilted cotton counterpane laid neatly over the bed - which boasted a firm, straw stuffed mattress. No fire - but that only because the room butted up against the inn’s main chimney, so that the tiny room with filled with pleasant warmth without the need for further heat. There was a blanket chest at the end of the bed and a night stand complete with a polished bronze mirror. Quite a luxury in a place like this. 

The boy Clellus - actually a young man close to sixteen \- had brought up his father’s shirt as promised, along with a steaming bowl of hot water and the towel. He’d stood and shuffled his feet for a couple of minutes before Hercules had taken pity on his embarrassment and dismissed him with a friendly smile. There really wasn’t anything else he wanted - unless it was a good warm helping of the beef stew that he could smell cooking over the common room fire. He’d stripped off once the boy had left, kicking out of sodden boots and peeling his way out of his shirt. The weather really had been atrocious for the past three days; certainly not fit for man or beast to travel in. Heroes don’t have the luxury of choice. They were hoping to be in Mysia before the Winter Festival there; rumor was a couple of warlords hoped to take advantage of the gathering, especially since it was the year the province would host a ceremony to re-dedicate the Temple of Zeus which dominated the town. Such an event would bring in liberal offerings and tempting prospects for plunder. Hercules wasn’t particularly bothered about protecting his Father’s temple from desecration, but it wouldn’t just be the goods and treasures attracting the warlords’ eyes; a number of young men and women would form part of the dedication ceremony, representing the best of their villages and towns. The prospect of valuable slaves and new recruits would bring the greedy like flies - and it had drawn two of the finest heroes in Greece, determined _not_ to let the bad guys get away with it. 

_If they’ve got any sense, those warlords are holed up somewhere, waiting for the weather to clear ..._

Armies - especially mercenary ones - do not march well in the pouring rain. Heroes fare a little better, but Hercules couldn’t really blame his partner for wanting to stop at the first place they’d stumbled on. Their journey so far had been a miserable one; they had at least another four days travel ahead of them, and little prospect of the weather improving either. Even so ... 

He sighed, dipping his hands into the steaming water so that he could scrub some of the grime from his face. There were days when Iolaus’ stubborn streak got the better of him - and days when his perception of moral decency became decidedly fuzzy round the edges. Put the two together, and you ended up with a trail weary, hungry hunter spending the night in a rowdy \- and probably squalid - brothel when he _could_ have been comfortably ensconced in the room next door. 

_As if he’ll ever learn ..._

Hercules laughed softly to himself, wiped his hands on the towel and then used it to rub the worst of the moisture out of his hair. That done he shrugged into the clean linen shirt Clellus had left on the bed, tucked his boots in against the chimney breast, spread his damp shirt out on the night stand to dry and headed down stairs with a light heart and an eager appetite. Fresh sheets, a warm room, and a little peace and quiet for the night? What else could a man want? 

* * *

Music - _good_ music - was always a welcome addition over dinner. The musicians at the House of Elysium were excellent, providing a suitably sensual background for the floor show, which was in full swing as Iolaus settled himself down amongst the quilted cushions and waited for service to arrive. The public room was a spacious hall which took up the centre of the first two floors in the building. There was a dining and drinking area on one side, a set of gaming tables on the other, and a clear space in the middle. A sweeping staircase led up to a balcony area which ran round all four sides of the room; a number of doors led off the balcony and a second staircase snaked up in one corner, leading to the upper floors. The room was lit by four huge candle bearing chandeliers, which hung at roughly the same level as the balcony \- presumably to limit the risk of fire - and warmth was provided by a similarly huge fireplace which dominated the wall behind the dining tables. 

_Low_ dining tables. Iolaus was sitting \- very comfortably - on the floor, which had turned out to have a hypercaust laid beneath it. Most of the patrons on his side of the room were seated, or sprawled, Roman style on feather filled cushions, although the hunter had taken one look at the low built tables, grinned, and folded himself into the half lotus position that had practically been the first thing his eastern master had taught him. He could probably stay like that for hours - especially on a heated, tiled floor - although he had no intention of doing so. It was just the most comfortable way to sit when you were facing the prospect of food served at such a low level. 

Thinking of his ancient teacher brought a smile to his face. The old man would have liked this place, although he’d have been busy claiming that the dancers were far too wasteful of their own energies. He’d certainly have approved of the house tastes in clothing; Sapphire had found the hunter a pair of loose cord-tied black silk pants and a voluminous over robe made of the same dark fabric. The outfit was the sort he’d got used to wearing during his days in the east; light weight and comfortable. Nothing chafed, nothing inhibited movement and the silk had felt wonderful sliding against damp bare skin. 

He took another thoughtful look around, assessing what the architecture contained. The House was clean, well kept and definitely living up to its promise. It seemed to be a fairly quiet evening, which wasn’t surprising, given the weather. There were about a dozen men clustered around the gaming tables, some gambling with dice, others with cards; two or three were lounging at the edge of the dance floor and there were six - no, seven - sprawled among the cushions. The rest of the figures decorating the room and the balcony were women - and he spotted at least three who were probably patrons rather than employees. 

_Well, well ..._

Iolaus grinned, not in the least bit embarrassed to discover that the couple intimately entwined some three feet away from where he sat were both female. Clearly the House catered to a wide range of tastes and pleasures. A safe haven indeed. His estimation of Helena went up another notch 

A scarlet clad serving girl shimmied in his direction, her bare feet picking their way through the tumble of cushions with delicate care. Tiny bells jingled at her ankles as she approached, although the sound of them was practically lost among the tumble of notes and drumbeats that dominated the room. Iolaus watched her progress out of the corner of his eye, his attention distracted by the vigor of the floorshow. There were three dancers performing in the centre of the room; a matching set by the look of them, each with long nubile limbs and a cascade of honey blonde hair which tumbled freely around their shoulders as they dipped and undulated across the floor. Their costumes \- like Sapphire's - left very little to the imagination, although they were artfully draped and fastened to reveal little more than tantalising glimpses of what lay beneath. 

"Enjoying the show?" Helena’s sultry voice questioned, barely inches from his ear. His head whipped round in surprise; she was standing right behind him, although he’d not seen her arrive there. 

"Ah - yeah," he admitted, breaking into a warm grin and relaxing again. "You know - it’s a nice place you got here." 

"We think so." She reached out a hand to catch the arm of the serving girl. "Just leave the jug Poppy and fetch the man a plate of pork. He’s hungry." 

Poppy glanced down at the hunter, smiled a little shyly and deposited the goblet and jug she’d been carrying within easy reach of his hand. He thanked her with a smile of his own and she coloured prettily, hastening away to do as she was bid. She was wearing bells around her wrists as well, Iolaus noted, wondering if that was a fashion around the House or some kind of status mark. Sapphire hadn’t worn bells. Just the stones that matched her name. 

"Now how did you know I was hungry?" he wondered half in tease, reaching for the jug and filling the goblet with a splash of rich dark ale. Helena laughed. 

"Men are always hungry," she considered with amusement. "For one thing or another. But those who’ve been walking all day in such appalling weather need a little meat in their bellies. Warms them up \- restores their strength. Was the bath - to your satisfaction?" 

"Absolutely." Iolaus sipped warily at his drink, and then tipped the goblet up to take a decent swallow. The ale was good, with a sweet bite that lingered in the throat. The woman laughed, both at his tentative taste and the expression which followed it. 

"Nothing but the best in Elysium," she murmered, reaching a hand to test the dampness in his curls. "I was right. You cleaned up ... very nicely. Enjoy your meal - and everything else," she added, winking at him as she slunk away. He giggled into his goblet, knowing _exactly_ what she meant. This was going to be an interesting evening. 

_Herc - you **really** don’t know what you’re missing here..._

* * *

"More stew?" Nathan reappeared the minute he’d emptied his plate, hovering with hospitable expectation. Hercules looked up and nodded gratefully. The stew was excellent, even if the aftertaste the ale left behind was a little bitter. He hadn’t known how hungry he was until he’d sat down to eat - this was his third helping and he still had appetite to spare. 

His host didn’t seem to mind - he re-filled the plate with a generous portion of the hot, beef and onion stew, and added another slice of the dark chewy rye bread to help soak up the gravy. This was extra generosity; Hercules had heard him tell another customer - very firmly - that the price of the stew covered only _one_ slice of bread and if he wanted more he’d have to pay for it. There were several patrons who’d purchased a meal and the snug room, with its many nooks and alcoves, was filled with the sounds of people eating - some of them doing it very noisily. 

Among them was a small group of well dressed, affluent looking men seated at a table close to the fire; they were sharing a communal bowl of stew - slice of bread apiece - and currently looking daggers at the man who’d given up on bread, spoon _and_ fingers and was busy guzzling gravy straight off his uplifted plate. He wasn’t bothering Hercules - who’d seen his own partner eat with a lot more gusto and far fewer table manners on more than occasion - but the well-to-do of Iphrus were noticeably disgusted by the man’s hunger. One of them - a portly, grey haired man with several chins and a jaded air - snagged Nathan’s arm as he passed and nodded in the offending customer’s direction. The innkeeper glanced at the problem, heaved a little sigh and went to have a quiet word with the man concerned. 

Hercules felt a little uncomfortable for both of them; the man had paid for his meal, he wasn’t annoying anybody else, and the innkeeper clearly wasn’t happy about having to remind him of his manners. For all that, someone _had_ complained, and that meant Nathan had to do something about it. 

_I guess they have a right to eat in peace ..._

He couldn’t hear what innkeeper said, although it provoked an indignant reaction. The raggedly clad farmer made a big show of wiping the crust of his bread around his - by now - mostly empty plate, stuffed the result in his mouth, glared pointedly at the offended group and left, jamming a wide brimmed leather hat onto his head as he did so. 

"Aye," he called back over his shoulder, "evict decent men - taxpayers - if you must, Magistrate. But don’t expect me to change my manners just for the likes of you. I earned the dinar that paid for my stew \- which is more than you ever did. And where’s your good for nothing son, eh? Up to no good, that’s for certain." 

He slammed the door on his way out, which earned Nathan a number of sympathetic looks from his assembled customers. None from the Magistrate’s table though; the men there were all glaring indignantly at the door instead. Hercules heaved a small sigh and went back to his stew; he tried to avoid local politics as a rule and this had the distinct air of being more trouble than he wanted to discover right there and then. 

"Sorry about that," the innkeeper murmered, pausing by his guest’s table to replace the now empty ale jug with a full one. "Lucius’ is a good sort but he speaks his mind. Can’t say I blame him," he added, glancing towards the Magistrate and his company. "Some of us prefer to wait until the election. Something tells me that Perelion and his cronies won’t be running this town for long after that." He paused, a frown creasing his weathered features. "If we could just find someone to put themselves up against him ..." 

"How ‘bout you?" Hercules suggested, pleased to hear that the people of Iphrus were tackling their problems the legal way. Nathan shook his head, offering a wry smile in response. 

"I wish. But I don’t qualify. I wasn’t born here, and I haven’t owned property in the region for long enough to meet the other criteria. In another year, maybe ..." He sighed, then dismissed his mood with a short laugh. "Don’t worry yourself about it. It’s our business, not yours. Now - if we had problems with warlords, or a monster or two in the vicinity ..." 

Hercules echoed the man’s laugh, deciding that he liked the burly innkeeper. He liked his attitude even more. The laws of Greece had been made for men like him - _by_ men like him. Knowing that such people existed made a hero’s labours worth all the effort they demanded. "I’m glad you don’t," he grinned, using the last chunk of his bread to mop up the last drop of his gravy. "I don’t get an evening off very often." 

Nathan chuckled, putting out his hand for the now empty plate. "Well, you can enjoy this one," he assured him. "We don’t get a lot of trouble around here. We’re a quiet kind of town. And we’d like it to stay that way." 


	2. Chapter 2

" _Ho **boy!** Whoowahoo!_ " 

_What the ..._ Iolaus looked up from his plate as the raucous exclamation rang through the room. The music faltered. The dancers fled for the stairs, and a very indignant Helena sailed across the tiled floor in full sail, her skirts billowing out around her. The reason for her alarm was obvious, and the hunter’s eyes narrowed as he hastily chewed and swallowed down his last mouthful of spiced pork. He hated to waste a good meal; the one in front of him was excellent - and the half dozen rowdies who’d just spilled into the room had _trouble_ written all over them _._

In capital letters. 

"You hold it right _there_ boys!" Helena’s voice had suddenly developed a commanding note - a distinct contrast to her previously sultry tones. "We aren’t open to your kind of business." 

"Oh, yeah. _Right_." The leader of the group swaggered forward - a lanky, sullen looking young man, his lank hair plastered down by the rain and the tell tale glow of drink warming his cheeks. He glanced over his shoulder at his cronies, at least three of whom appeared to be a lot drunker than he was. "The witch wants to throw us out boys. Whatdya say to that?" 

"Throw _her_ out!" one of them jeered and the rest laughed uproariously at the idea. Helena planted herself in front of their leader, hands on her hips and her eyes flashing dangerously. 

"I’ve told you before, Jantis, you’re not welcome here - and I’m telling you again now. You and these - _drunks_ \- get off my property right now or - " 

"Or _what?_ " Jantis leered, leaning forward so that he stared her right in the face. Helena winced with disgust and took a half step backwards to escape his breath. Bad move; he read it as fear and followed forward with confidence. "You gonna call town watch on me? You gonna take _me_ to court?" 

His band thought this was extremely funny, and so did Jantis. He laughed right in the woman’s face. She went white with fury. "Oh yeah, _very_ funny," she growled. "Just because your father is - " 

"Excuse me?" Iolaus had risen to his feet and made his way round to the edge of the dance floor, his bare feet making no sound on the warm tiles and his black robe blending him in with the shadows. Most of the other patrons of the house had determinedly turned away from the confrontation, desperately pretending it wasn’t happening; those girls not safely occupied with one of them were fleeing for the suspect safety of the stairs and balcony. The hunter didn’t blame them. The young men were drunk and likely to get violent just for the sake of it. Six men facing down one woman didn’t count as fair odds in his book - unless the woman concerned was Xena, in which case Iolaus would have been sitting back to watch the fun. Helena was _not_ the warrior princess, although her expression would have warmed the lady’s heart; she looked as if she were determined to give as good as she got. 

Iolaus had no intention of letting her _get_ anything. Here he was, having a pleasant, relaxing evening, with good food and better company and he wasn’t about to let these half-cut, young thugs spoil it for him. He knew the type - and he knew he’d take great pleasure in teaching them all a lesson or two in manners. 

" _What?_ " Jantis demanded, swing round to glare at the interruption with irritation. What he saw - a small, almost slight figure draped in black, with bare feet and a tousle of boyish golden curls - made him burst out laughing. "You got yourself a new bouncer, witch?" he howled, the rest of his cronies bent almost double with laughter. Helena threw her guest an anxious, wary look. 

"This isn’t your problem, hero," she said, trying to dissuade him from trouble with a small shake of her head and a warning look in her eyes. He grinned and gave her a knowing wink - which only served to deepen her frown. She meant the epithet as a flattering joke - but he _was_ a hero. She was in trouble. And that made it his problem. 

" _Hero?_ " The young bully and his followers thought that was even funnier. Jantis took a step away from Helena to grin arrogantly down at her would-be rescuer, looking decidedly amused. "You the economy model, squirt?" 

Iolaus’ eyes narrowed a little as he considered the figure in front of him. Hercules would have recognised that look - and known _exactly_ what it meant. Jantis merely widened his grin. 

"Well?" he mocked, sharing his amusement with his friends. The hunter tipped his head back a little and eyed the man with patient forbearance. He wasn’t about to _start_ this fight. But he knew it was coming all the same. 

_Squirt, huh? One of these days,_ he considered wryly _I might actually run across someone who **realises**_ _I’m dangerous ..._

"Something like that," he admitted, surreptitiously flicking his hand at Helena to get her to move out of the way. She was quick \- she caught the gesture, acknowledged it with a doubtful grimace then heaved a sigh and slowly stepped back to the edge of the dance floor. Her eyes said _it’s your funeral_ , which hurt, just a little. He’d thought the woman had a better measure of him than that. "Actually," he went on, circling round to take up the space Helena had just left, "I’m the new dance instructor. Care for a lesson - or two?" 

"Well, whaddya know," Jantis jeered, motioning his cronies forward. "The whorehouse got itself a guard-dog. A little yappy, lap dog more _like -_ " 

He launched himself to the attack, swinging out wildly with his fist. The hunter dodged; the intended blow missed by leagues. Its perpetrator stumbled over a deliberately outstretched foot and made an unexpected close acquaintance with the floor. His cronies immediately leapt to his defense - and discovered what a lot of would-be bullies had been discovering over the years. 

That Iolaus was a _lot_ more dangerous than he looked. 

It was never going to be an even fight. There were six of them, already drunk, quickly enraged, and lashing out without restraint. He was one man, unarmed and unarmored, bare foot and clad in nothing but black silk. 

He wiped the floor with them. 

It had been a while since he’d had a good work out, and those three wet, miserable days on the trail had offered very little opportunity to vent the restless energy with which he’d been blessed in abundance. He met the challenge with enthusiasm, a swift and supple predator in the middle of a band of jackals. They stumbled and they flailed, they roared with anger and they hurt each other far more than they were ever going to hurt him. He danced through their assault, always a step ahead, never misplacing a twist or a turn, and taking them down with speed and style. 

Leap, kick, spin, tumble, strike. Bare flesh struck against bare flesh, offering open handed blows rather than fists - they were only local bully boys and he didn’t want to hurt them _too_ much - and one by one they went down. The first stumbled away to collapse into a huddled heap, hugging his stomach and groaning in distress. The second was thrown backwards by a well placed foot under his chin, hit the floor and stayed there, poleaxed by the blow. The third, doubled over by an elbow jab, went down and stayed down; the hunter used him as a spring board, somersaulting over two of his friends and then laying them both out with a spinning roundhouse kick once he’d landed. Four and five collapsed over number three and none of them got up again. That left only Jantis, howling with rage and frustration. 

"Stand still, damn you!" he cursed, lurching at his opponent with murder in his eyes. Iolaus feinted, dodged back the other way, spun away from the blow and helped the young man on his way with a well placed foot on his backside. Jantis stumbled, only just recovered his balance and turned back with a face like fury. "Fight like a _man!_ " 

"I am," Iolaus shrugged, flipping into another backward leap as the bully swung a fist in his direction. Jantis hit fresh air, stumbled round carried by his own momentum and the hunter once again helped him on his way with a gentle shove from a bare foot. The younger man was panting for breath, his face florid and the moisture pouring off him like a river. Iolaus, on the other hand, had barely broken a sweat; he was poised on the balls of his feet, his breathing totally under control and moving as if he could keep this kind of pace up all night. Which he probably could, if he had to. 

"Stand _still!_ " Jantis demanded in a scream of sheer frustration. Iolaus shrugged a second time. 

"Okay." This time he didn’t dodge. Didn’t even step back. He deflected his opponent’s wild blow with an upward strike from his right arm and moved in with his left. Jantis didn’t know what hit him; one moment he was upright, the next he was down and _staying_ down, his body screaming from half a dozen blows, all of which had been too quick for him to see. Iolaus paused in mid-strike as the bully crumpled to the floor, holding the pose for a moment while he assessed whether or not the man was getting up again. Seeing that he wasn’t, he stepped back, took a long deep cleansing breath, gave himself a little shake and returned his attention to the rest of the world, wondering if he’d missed anything. 

The House of Elysium gave him a spontaneous round of applause. 

"Well, well, _well_ ," Helena observed, emerging from among the gaming tables to offer him a goblet of well-earned refreshment. Her eyes danced with admiration and her smile was warm. "You can teach dancing at my establishment _any_ time. You’re good. _Very_ good. You know," she added as he tipped the goblet back to take a very welcome swallow, "with _that_ kind of audition I can see the girls fighting each other over you tonight. Someone throw that trash into the street," she ordered imperiously, and several other of her patrons leapt to obey with enthusiasm. Iolaus got the impression that Jantis and his gang were not well liked in town. 

"Well, I - ah - wouldn’t really want to start _another_ fight," the hunter joked warmly, not at all embarrassed to find himself suddenly surrounded by a bunch of attentive women. He smiled at the nearest one, a hazel eyed vixen with long honey blonde hair, and she smiled back with hopeful invitation. "I’m trying to cut down, you know?" 

"I’m sure you are. _Girls_ ," Helena fended them off good naturedly, ignoring their mock pouts of protest, "the man hasn’t finished his supper yet. Ruby - you go fetch him some desert. I think there’s some honey cake in the kitchen. Amber, you get the good wine from my office \- the Athenian amphora if you please - and the rest of you? Back to work if you please. We have other customers to keep happy tonight, you know. Oh - Jasmine, would you be so good as to shoo the brats back to bed? It’s _way_ to late for them to still be up. Even if they did just get to see the Magistrate’s son get the lesson he’s been asking for for a long time." 

Iolaus looked up, following the line of her glance. Sure enough, there were three bright eyed children leaning on the balcony rail, right by the second set of stairs. Two girls and a boy, none of them older than seven at first guess. "Who’s - ah?" he asked, nodding at the youngsters, who were hastily scrambling back up the stairs now they realised they’d been spotted. Helena smiled indulgently. 

"Our little blessings? Melete is Sapphire’s little girl, Polyhelus belongs to Gloxenia - and as for poor Hyacinth, well, he’s an orphan. His father died a month or two back and the Magistrate kicked the child out onto the streets. Repossessed the house to cover taxes _he_ said. Like anyone believes that. Ippartus was an occasional client of ours - after his wife died, he used to come here for a little company from time to time. He was pretty good to us. Didn’t have much money, but he paid in kind. Carpentry mostly. A little hard labour now and then - chopping wood, fetching supplies, you know? Far more than he ever owed. The least I could do was take the boy in. Even in quiet place like Iphrus the streets are no place for a child." 

"You can say that again," Iolaus agreed wryly, looking at her with new respect. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Hercules that sometimes places like the House of Elysium could serve as sanctuaries. There’d been another such House in Thebes once - not quite as grand or as fancy as this one - which had seen fit to take pity on a gang of street kids; been willing to give them food, and take in the youngest among them for protection. Iolaus had never forgotten that generosity - nor that the members of that House had always welcomed him back with knowing arms once he’d been old enough to appreciate them. 

It was something Hercules had never quite understood. How - sometimes - even the casual companionship of a stranger could be a better option than facing than a long night alone. The son of Zeus had never _been_ alone - not like that. Not cold, and hungry and feeling that the whole world was set against you. Iolaus had been there more than once - and he’d made it one of his life’s ambitions to make sure that his best friend never _did_ get to know what it felt like. 

Even if it meant they occasionally disagreed about where to stay for the night ... 

Helena was eyeing him knowingly, almost as if his easy agreement had revealed more than he might like her to know. But all she did was smile warmly and wave him back towards the dining tables with a generous gesture. "It’ll all be on the House tonight, hero," she purred. "So make the most of it. While you can." 

He was sitting back at his table, smiling at the lady called Amber as she filled his goblet with the sweet golden wine of Athens, when the rest of what Helena had said finally registered. 

_Jantis is the son of the local **Magistrate**? I hope that isn’t going to mean any trouble ..._

* * *

The evening had slid into one of mellow contentment and complacency. Hercules was comfortably ensconced by the fire, a tankard of Nathan’s ale at his elbow, his feet stretched out to catch the warmth on his bare toes and a murmur of everyday, normal non-threatening conversation going on all around him. Discussions over the weather, the trials of the harvest just past and the prospects for the one in the coming year, the prices of cloth and the quality of leather washed over him with the sweet certainty of a town at peace, a thriving community and no need for heroes or heroic deeds to disturb his rest. 

For once, no-one had started in on tales of his previous labours; the merchant who’d recognised him earlier _had_ started to regale several tables about the business in Malia, but when he’d offered the tale to the Magistrate and his cronies he’d earned himself such a sour look that he’d shut up and gone back to drinking alone. The look that the Magistrate threw in Hercules’ direction afterwards had been more thoughtful than anything else, although there had been a slightly calculating consideration underlying it. Perhaps the man was something close to a crook and a bully - and if so, he might see the arrival of a renowned hero as something as a threat - but said hero had very little evidence to support the theory, beyond a few sharp words and a note or two in an otherwise convivial atmosphere. 

_Besides_ , he grinned to himself, _I get the feeling that - soon as they find someone to stand against him in the election \- he’s history as far as Iphrus is concerned._

Sometimes the best way to protect democracy is to use it. The voice of the people can become a powerful weapon if need demands - something even a few Kings had had cause to discover over the years. It was easier to rule when you had the support of your subjects, and you got that support by always keeping their best interests in mind. 

_And one of these days,_ Hercules considered, staring thoughtfully into the fire, _a few of my relatives might realise that too ..._

He sighed and reached for his ale. It was nice, just sitting here, quiet and thoughtful, with no demands for his attention and the world going on around him just as it should. But being alone with his thoughts was not always a good idea. When he found time to think, he also found time to weigh the world and his part in it, and that always led him down paths that were never easy to walk. Once, he’d dreamed of spending a lot of time like this; sitting warm and cozy by his own fire, his wife and his children beside him, dreaming dreams of domesticity and growing old without a care. _Once..._ Time and event had stolen those dreams from him; he’d never found anything lasting enough to replace them. These days he dreamed of one good day among a thousand; of walking into places like Iphrus and _not_ having to save the day, defend the weak or play the hero. 

_These are good people ..._

Happy people for the most, content with what they had, living each day for itself and having no greater ambitions than making a good show for the next festival, earning a little land of their own or winning the love of the girl next door. These were the people - the life - that he protected; that he tried to defend both from the greed and ambitions of their fellow men and the petty vagaries of his divine relatives. Good, honest, hard working people, living good, honest hard working lives. 

_And where’s the adventure in **that** , huh, Herc?_

Hercules grinned to himself, toasting the fire to acknowledge the wryly pointed remark - along with the man who should have been there to make it. Iolaus’ voice was never far from his thoughts, even if its owner was nowhere in the vicinity; the hunter had spent so much of his life talking his best friend out of these introspective, unsettling moods that Hercules now had an extensive repertoire of advice, observations and irreverent jokes on hand to help him balance out those moments of gloom and despondency. Not that it was ever the same as having the man there to do it in person, but it helped. On those days when - like Atlas - he felt as if he carried the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, Iolaus was always the one who could lighten the burden with a word, a joke, a new perspective - even a totally irrelevant question concerning physics or philosophy. 

He lifted his head for a moment, listening to the soft buzz of work weary people and allowed a knowing smile to curl onto his face. This quiet, contemplative atmosphere would have driven the hunter crazy. He’d have been in there, telling stories, cracking jokes, conducting sing-songs ...anything and everything, drawing people out, entertaining them, being entertained, with a hunger for life that was hard to resist and even harder to ignore. Wherever Iolaus went he made an impression. Not always a good one, but unquestionably a _memorable_ one ... 

"Dad! You gotta do something. You gotta do something _now!_ " 

The door to the inn had been slammed open, admitting a damp and battered trio of figures, the tallest of which had strode across to the Magistrate’s table to make his imperious demand. Hercules eased himself up and paid attention; the three men sported bruised faces and at least one of them was limping. They’d been in a fight. And very recently too. 

"What is it, Jantis? Have you been squabbling in the streets again? You’ve got to learn a little subtlety, boy. Nobody respects a thug. And I didn’t bring you up to be one." 

"Ah, lecture me later, dad. This is _important_. I got a complaint. A _real_ one this time," he added, seeing the look that crossed his father’s face. 

Perelion straightened up from his casual slump and pushed the cards he’d been betting on to one side. "A real one, boy?" He looked his son up and down a little more closely; the young man’s nose had been bleeding and there was a dark stain of blood pooled down his shirt front. "Bandits? Raiders? Street robbers? You look like you’ve been in a war." 

"Yeah," one of Jantis’ companions muttered a little bitterly. "It should have been a _whore_ ..." 

"Cut it out, Faltus" Jantis snapped over his shoulder. "This is serious. Dad, I wanna raise a complaint against that bitch who runs the House on the hill. We were just looking for a little shelter from the rain, a place to sit and drink for a while, you know? Somewhere a little more fun than this - " 

"This is a decent establishment for decent folk, boy." The remark didn’t carry the heat that might have been expected in it; the Magistrate was frowning thoughtfully, an expectant look in his eyes. "You’re young. Nothing wrong with a little fun at your age. But I’ve told you - that House has pretensions and you shouldn’t flatter them. _She_ might like to pretend it’s a place of entertainment - a place with class - but everyone knows it’s just a whorehouse. One that charges far too much for far too little." He paused to smile knowingly at the other men at his table, at least two of whom were leaning forward, a greedy, hopeful look on their faces. "Two more violations and _I_ revoke the license. So make it good. What she do? Charge and not deliver? Cut the good wine with vinegar? Or she harbouring thieves? Cuthroats - ah, no. If one of you’d got yourself killed, you’d have sent for the watch. Pity," he added, sharing the thought with his company, who laughed. 

Hercules frowned. 

_If I was right about that place ..._

He hadn’t been that bothered about leaving his partner to pursue his own arrangements for the night. He knew the hunter was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, provided he didn’t let his habit of speaking his mind get out of hand. But if the House on the hill had an unsavoury reputation, then Iolaus’ joke about getting his throat cut might turn out not to be a joke at all - and Hercules would have a lot more to say than just ‘I told you so’ if his best friend managed to get himself murdered just because of a stupid disagreement and his stubborn pride. 

_After_ he’d torn Hades realm apart looking for him, that was ... 

"She threw us out," Jantis announced through gritted teeth. "With no _reason!_ We weren’t doing anything. Just joshing around as usual. And there was this _guy_ \- " 

"Six - seven feet tall," one of his friends interrupted, his voice indignant. "Muscles on his muscles. Dressed all in black ..." 

"A warlord or something." The other friend took up the story with equally outrage. "Ugly brute. Scar across his face - looked like he chews on his sword." 

"And he attacked us. Without warning. He just \- waded in. We didn’t stand a chance." 

"Yeah. We barely got out of there with our lives." 

_A warlord?_ Hercules was on the edge of his seat by now. What if one of the warlords they were expecting in Mysia had also paused in Iphrus because of the weather? Was it someone they knew? Had Iolaus recognised him? Had he recognised _Iolaus ...?_

"He was with the witch, Dad. I bet they’re planning something. Something real bad. That’s why they didn’t want me in the place. They knew I’d come to you." 

"You were right to," Perelion frowned. A worried murmur had rippled round the room as the other townsfolk had picked up the implications in the story. Hercules heard Nathan choke down a snort. 

" _Warlord_ ," the innkeeper muttered, winking at his son, who was sat tending the fire. "I bet. Perelion - " he took a step towards the Magistrate’s table, earning himself a scowl from Jantis and a frown from the young man’s father. "If Helena were entertaining _warlords_ up at the House, don’t you think someone would have noticed? She’s just trying to run an honest business up there. She wouldn’t want that kind of trouble - and she doesn’t keep that sort of company." 

_Now **that’s** interesting ..._

Hercules had decided early on that Nathan was the kind of man whose opinion he respected - and if he thought the owner of the House was honest, then it was likely that she would be. Even so, if was a surprising remark, coming from a man whose business was probably the one most at risk from the Elysium’s rivalry. 

"You got proof of that?" Perelion asked, a little pointedly. The innkeeper heaved a sigh. 

"How can you prove something _isn’t_ happening?" he questioned, spreading his hands in general appeal. A number of his customers shrugged and nodded, acknowledging his point. The Magistrate merely snorted. 

"If the boy saw a warlord," he growled, "he saw a warlord. But - " He pushed out a thoughtful breath, eyeing his son and the way that water was dripping from his tunic. It was obviously still raining out there. Heavily. "Man like that - in town for ‘company’ - he’ll be easier to deal with in the morning. Hung over and - tired out," he added, sharing the thought with his friends, who laughed knowingly. Jantis glowered at them. 

"But Dad - " 

"Don’t you ‘but’ me, boy. I’ll deal with your complaint in the morning. Once the rain’s stopped. Nobody’s leaving town tonight \- and I’m not stirring the watch in this weather. Not to arrest a man I can catch tomorrow. The Elysium can keep its license - one more night." 

There was a general feeling of relief at this conclusion. Hercules had the impression that town opinion might be divided about the brothel, but nobody had wanted to turn out in such a filthy weather without genuine need. Jantis was not looking happy about the situation though; he appealed to his father a second time, displaying some of his bruises with decided affront. 

"Kamris and Porian are still totally out of it. We had to leave Celeus to keep an eye on them back there. This guy’s dangerous. That _place_ is dangerous. It’s a disgrace." 

"He wouldn’t be saying that if Helena had let him in," Nathan muttered as he arrived to collect the now empty jug that lay just within Hercules’ reach. "The boy’s just trying to make trouble. His pride’s been hurt far more than the rest of him." He paused, a thoughtful look on his features. "You know," he noted, glancing up at the still protesting group, " _someone_ up there taught those young thugs a lesson. I know them. They hunt in a pack. What kind of man can take on odds of six to one and still be the only one to walk away from the fight?" 

_Ah ..._

Revelation dawned and Hercules smothered a sudden grin behind his hand. Put _that_ way, the answer was obvious. He should have realised straight away whose handiwork Jantis and his cronies were currently sporting. But then, the youngsters’ description had been a little - misleading \- to say the least. 

_Warlord, huh? And seven feet tall? I can’t wait to tell Iolaus **that** one ..._

"Hercules?" Nathan was looking a little bemused at his reaction. His guest found him a wry smile. 

"Apart from me, you mean? I can think of one or two. Actually," he went on, feeling a sudden need for accuracy, "several of those are woman - but I know Xena’s not in town. You’re nowhere near Amazon territory - and Callisto would have just fireballed the lot of them. Burnt the whole place down." He stared down into his ale, mulling that thought over for a moment and then sighed, briefly wishing that the problems a place like the Elysium offered a community could be solved that easily. "Best thing to do, if you ask me." 

Nathan cleared his throat, noisily. Hercules looked up - to find Jantis standing less than three feet away, staring straight at him. 

"Are you - _really_ Hercules?" the young man asked warily. "Son of Zeus, slayer of monsters and that sort of stuff?" 

_Here we go ..._

"Yes," he acknowledged matter-of-factly. "I am. Did you _really_ get beaten up by a seven foot tall warlord tonight?" 

" _Yeah_." Jantis’ response was both indignant and defensive. "You gonna do something about it?" 

"No," Hercules replied, equally matter-of-factly. His momentary fear for his partner had given way to warm amusement; judging by the young man’s puffy eye, bloodied nose and bruised cheek Iolaus had been fighting open handed - which meant he’d only been playing with them, not regarding it as a serious fight. "You don’t need me to fight your battles. Just a word or two of advice - " He sat up and eyed the figure in front of him with stern consideration. "Never start a fight unless you’re sure you’ve a chance of walking away from it afterwards, and - uh - _never_ underestimate your opponent." 

Jantis took that one on board with a rueful nod and a bitter grimace; he was clearly still very angry about what had happened. Hercules hoped he’d take the time to think about the lesson he’d been taught, and wondered whether to enlighten him as to exactly _who_ had been his teacher. There was no shame in being defeated by a better man - and Iolaus was an experienced warrior who’d learnt _his_ early lessons in much tougher streets than Iphrus would ever posses. Not to mention his being skilled in the eastern fighting arts, trained at the Corithian Academy, and a long time veteran of innumerable wars, monster hunts and ballad worthy adventures. 

Although, thinking about it, fighting a bunch of drunks in a brothel was hardly the kind of thing that would find its way into a bard’s tale ... 

"Go home, Jantis," Nathan advised, not unkindly. "Sleep it off. You lost this one. It happens. Happens to all of us. Even the best. Right, Hercules?" 

"Yeah," Hercules concurred, unable to help his own rueful grin. "There are some battles you just can’t win. You just have to find another way to deal with the problem. Or the reason for the problem," he added pointedly. Jantis would get into far fewer fights if he recognised that his own behavior was probably responsible for most of them. 

The young man was busy mulling over the advice, his bruised face creased into a wary frown. All of a sudden, a light dawned in his eyes and a smile twisted across his features. "Yeah," he breathed. " _Yeah ..._ Thanks," he offered, then turned on his heel and quickly herded his companions out into the night. 

"You’re welcome," Hercules called after them, sharing a slightly bemused shrug with the innkeeper. "What did I say?" 

Nathan echoed the shrug. "I dunno," he laughed. "But whatever it was, it struck a chord. More ale?" 

"No - _no_. I think I’ll call it a night. I walked a long way today and I’ve even further to go tomorrow." The son of Zeus eased himself to his feet and stretched weary muscles. "And with a bit of luck - it might have stopped raining by the morning." 

* * *

_Well,_ Iolaus decided, heaving a small and happy sigh, _I sure hope Herc’s bed is as comfortable as this one ..._

The giggle that followed the thought was hard to smother, but he managed it, somehow. He had no wish to wake his current company for a variety of reasons - a list which began with _they’ve had a hard day_ and ended with the kitten got the cream grin that accompanied _so have I ..._

It was late and the room was dark. The last of the candles had guttered into nothingness a good half hour before, and the only light came from the dim and dying embers of the brazier that stood at the foot of the bed. The air was warm and musky, filled with the cloying scents of incense and perfumed oils, and the only sounds - above the constant low drone of rain on the roof - were those of contented sleepers, embraced by the arms of Morpheus and cradled in his domain. 

The hunter might well have been envious of the dreaming god, had he not enjoyed the pleasures of embracing those same sleepers earlier in the night. Jade lay nestled against his side, her head on his shoulder and her pert and perfect breasts pressed into the curve of his right arm. Sapphire was curled around him from above, her stomach acting as his pillow and his serving for hers. And Poppy completed the trio, her legs tangled up with his and her breath a warm caress on his lower left arm - which was beginning to get pins and needles where she was lying on it, but he didn’t mind and - to be honest \- didn’t really _care_. 

He couldn’t be more comfortable even if the mattress beneath him were stuffed with zephyr feathers - which it wasn’t, of course. Good goose down at a guess, like the pillows, half of which were on the floor because nobody had bothered to pick them up once they’d got there. 

_Someone will get them in the morning_ , he thought sleepily, then had to suppress another giggle because - knowing _this_ place - he’d be the one to get the someone in the morning and the pillows would stay right where they were ... 

_If the real Elysium is anything like this_ , he decided happily, _maybe I should persuade Herc to let me stay a little longer, next time I get to take Charon’s little boat ride._

Not a serious thought - especially since it inspired a consideration of his partner’s reaction, should he find out about the sleeping arrangements in _this_ version of paradise. The vision of Hercules’ mortified expression was utterly priceless. 

_Three?_ The son of Zeus would react, torn between indignation, embarrassment, and just a little envy. _Oh, yeah,_ he’d have to answer airily. _Beds are in short supply around here ..._

_This_ giggle was even harder to smother than the last. Helena’s good wine had packed a punch underneath its mellow savour; he wasn’t exactly _drunk,_ but nor was he completely sober. Add to that the hazy glow that inevitably followed the more energetic exercises of the night \- the fight with Jantis _not_ being the first thing that sprang to mind in that category - and you had the explanation for why he was so pleasantly adrift in his warm miasma of opulence and aftermath. 

No doubt there were Kings -somewhere - who indulged in such a luxurious lifestyle - but off hand he couldn’t think of any. He certainly hadn’t commanded _this_ kind of attention during his eventful - and extremely short lived - reign as King of Attica. 

_Mind you,_ he sighed, finally succumbing to need and warily wiggling his rapidly numbing arm out from under Poppy’s weight, _nice as this is, I’d give it up in a second if Niobe walked through that door ..._

Since he knew that wasn’t about to happen - and that _he’d_ be the one to die of mortification if it did - he dismissed both the memory and the idea which had spawned it without a second thought. He’d long ago learned to live in the now, rather than the then and the what ifs that went along with it. _This_ was the now he was currently in, and it was a very pleasant now, with no serious demands on his attention and very little to worry about, other than making sure he got enough sleep to be able to keep pace with Hercules when they left in the morning. 

_Good job my energy is legendary,_ he grinned, unable to resist the temptation to let his still tingling fingers linger on an interesting part of Poppy’ anatomy. He was beginning to think that Helena may have been right, and that his sacrifice of gold _had_ attracted Aphrodite’s attention when he wasn’t looking. The girls hadn’t exactly ended up fighting over him - but they had insisted in drawing lots, since he’d turned out to be the only customer wanting to stay the entire night and they all wanted to thank him for evicting Jantis and his company. Helena had been the one to place the chits in the cup for the draw, but even she’d looked a little surprised when _three_ of them had drawn out one with a mark on it. She’d hesitated, shrugged and then waved them all up to bed with a joke about calling by to pick up the corpse in the morning. 

_Well,_ the hunter laughed to himself, _I’m not dead yet ..._

He settled back against his living pillow and closed his eyes, more than ready to surrender to the tug of sleep. He was already sinking towards oblivion when something - something he couldn’t immediately place or recognise - whispered urgently for his attention. He sat up, instantly on alert, hunter’s instincts kicking him from indolent inattention to full awareness all in a single breath. 

"Wha...?" Jade demanded sleepily. He put down his hand and gave her a gentle shake. 

"Wake up," he ordered softly, and began shaking the others too. "Come on. All of you ..." 

"Oh - I _oo_ laus _,_ " Sapphire protested grumpily, waking to find she’d been tipped onto Poppy’s ample chest, "you’re insatiable ..." 

"Yeah," he agreed abstractedly, his head tipped to catch the barest sound from outside the room. "Probably. But that’s not why \- wait!" They froze, like three exotic nymphs carved into he same frieze, images clustered around the tousled hero in their midst. "Do you smell something?" 

"Smell what?" Jade frowned, taking an exaggerated sniff of the night air. Her eyes went very wide. "Oh, _gods_ ... I _do_ smell something." 

Smoke. 

Not the soft, incense laden remnants of the brazier, but something much sharper, much more immediate. An acrid, bitter scent - which seemed to be wafting up from the floor below. 


	3. Chapter 3

He never did know what woke him; it might have been some blind instinct for trouble, stirring him from well earned sleep; it may have been a whispered voice, one of his more caring relatives pausing to drop a well intended warning of danger - or perhaps some aspect of his divine blood gave him a subconscious awareness whenever a close friend invoked his name in prayer. Whatever the reason, Hercules woke; woke to a darkened room and the first soft streaks of light in the sky. 

_Iolaus is in trouble._

There was no rhyme, no reason to the thought - just a crystal clear awareness of desperation and need. He lay for moment, caught in the realisation, then tumbled out of bed in alarm, snatching for his clothes and flinging open the shutters to catch a glimpse of the world outside. 

What he saw only served to add to his sense of urgency. It wasn’t dawn that was busy painting that soft warm light over the world. 

The House of Elysium was on fire. 

_Gods!_

He kicked into his pants, dragged on his boots, and snatched up his gauntlets, abandoning the rest in favour of speed. The door went back with a bang as he charged through it, the noise shaking the entire inn from roof to foundations. "Nathan!" he called, hammering on the innkeeper’s door with desperate urgency. " _Nathan!_ " A moment later Nathan appeared, clutching his night shirt around him and blinking sleepily at the unwelcome disturbance. 

"Hercules? It’s the middle of the night ..." 

"I know. I know. The House - the one on the hill \- it’s ablaze. There may be people trapped ..." 

" _Gods!_ Helena ... The girls!" The innkeeper was suddenly wide awake. He strode past the anxious hero to knock hurriedly on the door next to his. "Clellus! _Clellus!_ " 

The boy peered out of the opening, as bleary eyed as his father had been. "Uh?" he questioned incoherently. 

"Get dressed," Nathan ordered sharply. " _Hurry_. We have to rouse the watch. There’s a fire. Hercules - " 

"I’ve gone," the son of Zeus announced, heading down the stairs two at a time. "Catch up with me!" 

A flurry of rain smacked him across the face as he hurtled out of the door and charged across the darkened square. It was no longer coming down in solid sheets; instead the air was filled with a fitful, miserable mist - enough to quickly soak a half naked man, but far from enough to inhibit the roaring blaze which danced ahead of him. 

He yelled out alarm as he ran, stirring a spattering of lit candles in his wake. Water splashed up underfoot, cold and bitter in the night, but he ignored it, his eyes fixed on his goal, his heart pounding in his chest. Memory was replaying the image which was seared indelibly into his mind; the scream of Hera’s fireballs as they took his family from him. 

_Iolaus ..._

Fear leant wings to his feet. He practically flew up the hill, covering the distance almost before he knew it; he breasted the rise and then skidded to a disconcerted halt as he hit a tangible wall of heat. 

_Gods..._

The building was well ablaze by now; flames were licking at the upper eaves and gnawed hungrily across the frontage, rimming it with lurid, flickering light. Smoke billowed from the second story windows and the rain was hissing into steam as soon as it hit the burning, heated surfaces. Hercules cast a quick glance around, hoping that the residents of the House had already made their escape. There was no sign of any women - and no tousled haired hunter either. Just six figures, silhouetted against the night and watching the spectacle with delight. 

_Jantis!_

The young man stood out, even among his friends; he was laughing, bringing his arm back to throw something against the wall of the burning building. There was a sound of breaking pottery and a sudden flurry of flame where the object had hit. 

" _Yes!_ " the little group crowed, celebrating the successful impact with a shared shimmy and a slapping of hands. The next thing they knew, they were sprawled across the rain soaked ground, a furious demi-god glaring down at them. 

"Having a good time, boys?" he asked tightly. Jantis blinked up at him, rolling back with a drunken chuckle. 

"Sure," he declared happily. "You know, when you have good ideas, you have _good_ ideas." 

"What?" Hercules - who’d been busy fighting the temptation to slap them all down again, stared at him, utterly aghast. The young man didn’t seem to have noticed his reaction. 

"Yup," he went on with relish. "Burn the whole place down. Best thing you said. Deal with the cause of the problem ..." He hiccuped tipsily and burst out laughing. Most of his gang followed suit. 

The son of Zeus went pale beneath his tan. 

"By the gods ..." he breathed, staring at the group with a mix of shock and horror in his eyes. Somewhere in the burning building a timber cracked loudly, the sound ringing out through the night. It was followed by a terrified shriek. Shock gave way to tight fury; Hercules thrust his forefinger at Jantis with a gesture that brooked no argument. "Stay there," he growled. "I’ll deal with you when I’m done with this. And don’t try to sneak away," he added as he turned and strode towards the waiting inferno. "Because I’ll find you. No matter where, no matter what - I’ll _find_ you!" 

It was seven steps to the door; each one took him deeper into that wall of heat, painting his naked torso with sweat and searing the surface of his skin. Once there, he could immediately see why no-one had used that route to escape the blaze. Someone - and he had a good idea _who_ \- had jammed a heavy balk of timber across the porch, turning the already solid door into an impassible barrier. It must have taken three or more of them to lift it into place; he tore it free without a moment’s thought, took one step back - and kicked the door completely off its hinges. 

Smoke billowed out, acrid, thick and black. Flame flickered after it as fresh air hit the wood panels which lined the outer lobby. Hercules ignored them both, plunging in with determination. The air was filled with the roar and crackle of flame, but - over it - he could hear the soft sobs of frightened souls coming from somewhere inside the building. 

He crossed the tiled floor at a run, briefly distracted by the figures which loomed out of the smoke beside the inner archway. Their gilded surfaces were crackled and melting in the heat, revealing the wood beneath. One glance was enough to reassure him that these were not living women; he headed further in, tugging down the flame edged curtain which barred his way and tossing it aside. 

The high roofed common room was aswirl with smoke and he put up both hands, breathing into his palms to keep the choking fumes out of his lungs. Fire danced along the edges of the upper balcony and had started to paint the lower staircase with flame. One of the candelabras had fallen, smashing the gaming tables below it to splinters; the others were threatening to join it, the ropes which held them aloft being eaten away from above. 

_Am I too late?_

There was no immediate sign of life in the huge hall. Just a large misshapen lump lying in the middle of the tiled floor. Hercules took a cautious step forward, wondering why anyone would leave a pile of rugs stacked up like that - and then realised that there was movement beneath the weave, moves which matched the soft muffled sobs which he’d been hearing. 

_Thank the gods ..._

It was only a few short strides to reach the flimsy refuge. He dropped to his knees, bent low to the floor and tugged up one edge, trying not to let too much smoke swirl in as he did so. A whisper of cooler air flowed out instead, along with a gulp of terror and a delicate hand, which groped to retrieve the rug. 

"It’s okay," he gasped, catching at the slender wrist and dropping even lower to cast a glance under the protective covers. "I’m Hercules. I’m here to get you out." 

There _was_ cooler air blowing out from under the rugs, although he couldn’t figure why that might be; a glitter of wide, terrified eyes stared out at him, several of the women practically hysterical from fear. 

" _Out?"_ the young woman whose wrist he’d grabbed looked at him as if he had two heads. "We can’t _get_ out. The doors are jammed. The _doors_ are jammed ..." 

"Not any more," he announced, wincing as he heard another of the candelabras hit the floor somewhere to his left. "It’s a straight run - out the arch and through the door. Don’t be afraid. The flames won’t touch you if you run fast." 

"I can’t," came the terrified answer. "I _can’t!_ " 

"Yes,you can," another voice said from further back. "You _all_ can. Do you hear me? We’re all going to get out of here. Iolaus promised, remember? We’re _all_ going to get out." 

_Iolaus ..._

A sense of relief fluttered across a half immortal heart; his partner wasn’t lost. Not yet at any rate. 

"Is he with you?" Hercules asked, his beleaguered lungs benefiting from the cleaner air which was billowing out from under the rugs. "Buddy - are you in there?" 

"No," the owner of the calmest voice responded, fighting down a decided tremor. "No. He tucked us in and went to find the kids. They were - upstairs. Up in the attics." 

The flutter of relief became one of anxious terror. 

_Upstairs?_

Hercules glanced up, desperately trying to see through the heavy veil of smoke. The balcony was a dance of flame and burning timbers had begun to tumble from the outer rail. One landed close by, hitting the tiles with a crack. Too close for comfort. If he didn’t get the women out now, then their unlikely refuge would soon become a death trap. 

"You’ve got to go," he urged, desperately pushing concern and fear to the back of his mind. Iolaus could take care of himself. These frightened, hysterical women had to be his first priority. "One, two at a time. Come on. You can do it." 

They didn’t want to move, and he didn’t really blame them. There would be a sense of security under the rugs, where the air was merely tainted with smoke and not thick with it; where you could pretend that the heat on your back was merely the result of being covered up and not because the world around you was being consumed with flame. But if they stayed there they would die. 

And soon. 

"Come on," he encouraged, offering them as warm and as reassuring a smile as he could manage. Iolaus had once told him that \- because of his divine blood - he possessed an aura which helped calm people’s fears and strengthen their hearts. He’d never entirely believed that theory; he rather suspected that the way people reacted to him had a lot more to do with his build, his looks and his reputation than any semi-mystical ‘aura’ which nobody could see and only Iolaus claimed to have noticed. Whether that was the case or not, the smile worked wonders. The young woman whose wrist still lay within the circle of his hand crept forward, trembling with fear. Another moved behind her. Both of them were wearing little more than drapes of silk and their feet were bare. 

"All right," he told them, keeping them under the drape of the rug for as long as he dared. "Take a few deep breaths of this cleaner air and - when I tell you to - stand up and run for the door as fast as you can, okay? Don’t look back - and _don’t_ stop, whatever happens. Your friends will be right behind you." 

_Mine too, I hope_ , he couldn’t help adding to himself, taking another hasty glance at the burning stairway. There was still no sign of life up there. 

They did as they were told. A few quick gulps of air and they were ready; he gave them the nod and they were gone, hunching their hands over their heads and balking only briefly at the flame wreathed archway. "Next," Hercules requested, lifting the rug back up again. The heat in the air was searing into his lungs and his eyes were streaming from the smoke. If it wasn’t for the cooler air gathered under the carpeting he’d have been in serious danger of collapse. 

Two more went, then two more after that. There were fourteen women huddled under the protective layers and he moved them out as fast as he could, praying that they’d all get out before the building came down on top of them. They passed in smoke shrouded blur, a panic of scantily clad figures streaming out into the rain misted night. Their escape was punctuated by the crackle of burning wood and creaking timbers; the last of the candelabra fell just as the twelfth figure started her run. She shrieked and quickened her pace, vanishing into the swirl of smoke which now cloaked the escape route. 

An elegant hand touched Hercules’ upper arm. "We’re the last. You’d better be right after us." 

He dipped down under the rug to catch another much needed breath and found himself face to face with a much older woman, her eyes a soft gleam in the dim light. "I won’t be long," he assured her, unable to help the automatic upward glance although he had no chance of seeing anything through three layers of rug. "I just need to know - " 

" _Hey!_ " The cry was distant and the throat that voiced it was raw with smoke and heat - but he knew that voice. Knew it with a heart leaping certainty that lifted him straight to his feet. Rugs scattered in all directions and the air in the hypercaust - no longer contained under the weight of woven fabric - roared up into the room, fanning the flames into a frenzy. 

" _Go,"_ Hercules commanded, sending the remaining women hurtling towards safety, the younger of the two screaming in total panic as the older woman dragged her away. The son of Zeus was already running in the opposite direction - towards the stairs and the source of that barely heard cry. 

" _Iolaus!_ " he yelled, heedless of the way the heat in the air ripped into his lungs. The sudden upwards draft had taken a lot of the smoke with it; he found himself staring up the stairway, each tread glowing with red hot intensity. 

"Herc?" The question held a note akin to disbelief. It was followed by a raw and hacking cough. 

"Down here!" He’d finally spotted him; the hunter was lurking halfway up the second staircase, wreathed in smoke and practically black with soot. There were three more figures with him, clinging desperately to his crouching frame. Iolaus had his arms round all three children, holding them with a comfort he’d probably expected to be their last. "Hurry!" 

The look this elicited was wide eyed and incredulous; it said _what in Tarterus do you **think** I’ve been doing_? and Hercules grimaced back the usual apology for stating the obvious - again. 

"Suggestions would be welcome," Iolaus called down, wincing and crouching a little lower as a whole piece of the balcony gave way over by the fireplace. The room was brightly lit by now; the fresh inrush of air had turned the blaze into a roaring inferno. Hercules put out a foot and tentatively tested the lower staircase. It creaked, groaned - and then collapsed completely, leaving nothing but a heap of scattered, flaming timbers, a shower of sparks, and a gaping hole where it used to be. 

" _Don’t_ try the stairs," he advised, backing off from the sudden flare of heat. 

"Right," Iolaus acknowledged, fighting down a coughing fit. The children were crying, long low keens of misery. "Good tip." He paused, wrestling for breath, his eyes darting this way and that as he weighed up his options. "Say - Herc?" 

"Yeah?" Hercules had kicked away some of the debris and moved to stand below him, looking up through the shimmering heat filled air with a sense of frustrated helplessness. So close - and so completely out of reach. 

_I could probably jump that distance ..._

Except that wouldn’t help the situation in the slightest \- and he had no guarantees that the upper floor wouldn’t just collapse under the extra weight. 

"If I throw - can you catch?" 

Iolaus was nodding down at the children, his intention perfectly clear. _Save them, even if you can’t save me ..._

Hercules felt a cold shiver run right through him. _This can’t be happening. There has to be **some** way ... _ "Yeah," he found himself agreeing, his voice remarkably calm. Inside he was howling denial, his eyes fixed on the slight figure above him, committing every moment to memory, devouring every second because it might turn out be the last. "Quick as you can." 

Iolaus stood up, galvanising into action before any of the children could realise his intention. The smallest came first, a shriek of surprise as she hurtled downwards. Hercules caught her easily, swinging her round onto his back as he reached to intercept the next descent. The boy was right behind the second girl and he caught him too, a well fielded catch with first one hand and then the other. 

The upper stairway creaked ominously, sending the hunter scurrying upwards and ripping a howl of terrified denial from a half god’s smoke scoured throat. _"Nooo!!_ " he cried, taking a half step forward and then staggering back as pieces of the burning balcony crashed down around him. 

"Get outta here, Herc!" he heard Iolaus yell, as much order as it was advice. There were frightened children clinging to his shoulders, their fingers sinking into his skin like claws; flames were everywhere, driving him back, the smoke and the heat sending his senses swimming. "Save the kids. Save _yourself ..._ " 

The man’s voice was lost in the sudden roar and anger of the rising flame. His heart breaking, his soul refusing to believe his betrayal, Hercules turned and ran for the door, leaving his best friend to the mercy of the fire ... 

* * *

_At least I saved the children_ ... 

Iolaus clung to that thought as he crawled dizzily up the attic stair case and along the narrow passage which, only a few short moments before, he had been rushing down in the opposite direction. There was a barely breathable layer of air, right next to the wooden floor and he inched along in it, feeling the heat strike up through the boards and knowing that it wouldn’t be long before they burned right through. Below him, he could hear the collapse of the second story, timbers crunching down through fire scoured surfaces along with the crack of shattering pottery and breaking tiles. 

_Won’t be long, I guess._

The House had gone up like a torch. It had taken only moments to rouse the residents from their beds and herd them downstairs so that they could make their escape - only to find both front and back doors barred \- and by then the lower floor had been well alight, filling the place with smoke and sending everyone into a panic. It had been sheer luck that he’d remembered about the hypercaust; Helena had got everyone gathering the rugs while he’d hacked through the floor tiles to access the sweeter inrush of air. The growing heat had been drawing it in, and he got them all to huddle over the flow, hoping that it would buy them time until someone came. 

_Someone like Hercules ..._

He managed a grimaced grin, his face contorting with pain and effort as he dragged himself forward. He remembered hammering fruitlessly on the blocked door, kicking and slamming his shoulder against it again and again without effect. Had he called his partner’s name during that pointless effort? Had it been then, or afterwards, when he’d let himself slide down the polished wood, the tears of frustration and terror springing to his eyes? He’d never liked the feeling of being trapped; to find himself trapped inside a burning building with a dozen or more lives depending on his actions, had almost been more than he could bear. 

Almost - but not quite. Surrender was not a word that belonged in his vocabulary - not connected to _him_ , at any rate. He’d picked himself up, sent a little prayer to anyone who might have been listening to send someone, soon, and then headed back to do what little he could in the circumstances. 

_Guess **someone** heard me._

Maybe even Hercules himself. Iolaus wouldn’t put it past his semi-divine friend to have the ability to hear such a desperate supplication. He half hoped he could hear him now, still struggling to escape the inevitable, wanting his partner to know - _needing_ him to know - that he had done everything he could. That - if he _didn’t_ make it - Hercules would be wrong to eat himself up with guilt over being unable to save him. The children had been the right choice. The _only_ choice. 

_**My** choice ..._

His groping fingers found a door ahead of him and he pushed it open, feeling the smoke surge overhead as it swirled in to the space beyond. The world danced around him in a shimmer of heat and flame; he could barely see, and he was fighting for breath, his lungs screaming at each intake of scalding air. 

_Why not,_ he asked himself, grimacing as he hauled himself inch by inch across the floor, _just let go, huh? The smoke’ll smother you long before the flames get here._

"Yeah, _right_ ," he coughed, over what was probably a hysterical giggle. _Give up?_ Like _that_ was ever going to happen ... 

He’d lost track of time and distance. When he reached the wall he went on crawling, too blinded by smoke to see where his path was taking him, too dazed by the heat to realise where he might be. It was only when his groping fingers found open space beneath them that he lurched to a halt, blinking desperately for vision and wondering why he seemed to be getting _wet_. 

_Rain_ , he registered, frowning at the picture that painted. _The roof fell in and I didn’t notice?_

He blinked a little harder and suddenly things swam into semi-focus. The roof hadn’t fallen - not yet at any rate. Instead he was lying at the edge of it, peering straight down at the ground, which seemed to be lit by a lurid, dancing light and was covered in shifting shadows. 

He risked a glance over his shoulder. The attic room had had a window - and he must have crawled straight out of it onto the thatch. Which, he now noticed, was oozing smoke despite the fact that its surface was sodden from the rain. 

"This," he muttered to no-one in particular, "is _not_ a safe place to be." 

There was only one place left to go. And that was _down._ Straight down, three stories worth, onto unforgiving ground without a chance to judge the softest landing place. 

_So,_ he wondered, peering down through smoke scoured eyes, _do I sit here until the fire gets me, or do I jump?_

His world was little more than blurred patterns of light and dark; dark mostly, a veil of shadows through which the occasional patch of lurid colour danced without substance or form. Somewhere behind him something gave way with a tearing, agonised creak of pain. The prickly surface on which he lay sprawled shifted and tipped, threatening to follow suit. Heat billowed up behind him, a fresh assault on his senses. There wasn’t really a choice - and he’d run out of time to make it anyway. 

Iolaus stood up, unaware of the way it raised his silhouette against the sky, a heat shimmered figure outlined by dancing flame. He didn’t hear the sudden mutter of voices, or see the way the crowd below stirred into movement; he knew nothing but the moment, wrapped in fire, balanced between light and dark, between certain death and uncertain chance. He closed his eyes, reaching deep down inside himself to find that point of utter focus his master had taught him to find, lifted his arms, committed his soul to the fates - 

\- and jumped. 

Not just a pace off the roof, a blind step into nowhere, as likely to spill him back into the flames as it was to save him, but a determined leap; he sprang out into the air, pushing off with all his strength, riding the upwards rush of the burning air until gravity took over and pulled him down. If he was going, he was going in style; his dive traced a perfect outward arc, his arms out stretched for balance and his body curved to catch the air. 

He felt the world race past him, an exhilarating rush that ripped the heat from his body and set his heart pounding in his chest. If he’d had breath to spare he would have whooped out loud as he gave himself up to the moment, reveling in it; for that one, perfect second, he was flying \- and it didn’t matter if the one that followed meant death or crippling pain. He had caught, in that instant, a glimpse of the truth which lurks behind the great illusion. That it was fear of death which killed the soul, not death itself. He wasn’t afraid. There was a lot he knew he’d miss, but very little that was cause for regret. Life was for living. He lived it; seized it; _accepted_ it. 

He’d never felt so much alive. 

The ground came up to meet him, hurtling towards him with grim inevitability. The moment stretched into forever ... 

... and then time came back with a rush, what little air he had left in his lungs expelled in a startled _oof_ that shook his entire frame. The ground was still a blurry distance away. There were arms around him, strong arms which had caught and cradled him. He was pulled into a desperate embrace, held and supported there by a strength which could move the world. 

Dazed, disorientated, and decidedly surprised that he was still alive, he rolled his head back, recognising the familiar features that danced in and out of focus only a few inches from his own. " _Good_ catch," he noted, attempting a grateful grin. Darkness surged in from all directions. 

And everything went black. 

* * *

_It’s okay. It’s **okay.** He’s only fainted ..._

Hercules stood for a moment, his arms locked tightly around his partner’s frame, the blond crowned head resting comfortably on his shoulder. He could nothing but listen; listen to the soft ragged sound of the man’s breathing, and to the softer thump of a hero’s heart beating strongly inside its owner’s chest. His own heart had been breaking as he’d stumbled out of the smoke filled doorway; for an unbearable moment it had ceased to beat entirely, lodging itself firmly in his throat as the flame rimmed figure had appeared at the edge of the roof. 

And then the man had jumped and he’d moved almost without thinking, racing to intercept that foolish, fateful fall. Hercules didn’t know if Iolaus had seen him in the crowd, or even if the hunter knew that he’d escaped the fire; he’d made a leap of faith - and the son of Zeus had to be there to answer it, no matter what it cost, 

It had been close. He’d been exhausted to start with, wrestling with too much smoke in his lungs and too long spent in searing heat. His vision had been blurred, his eyes stinging with pain and his perceptions dancing. But somehow he’d closed the distance, measuring the course of that elegant arc more with his heart than with anything else. Time had slowed to a crawl as he’d weaved through the startled crowd, moving with desperate, determined steps, his arms reaching out, his eyes fixed on Iolaus’ descent - and then the two of them had reached the same place at the same time, his momentum carrying him forward as he scooped the hurtling hunter out of the air. 

After which he could start breathing again, pulling in the air in great gulping breaths, his lungs protesting and his whole body shaking from head to foot. A second later, a step out of place - and he’d have been lifting a broken body from the ground. 

"That," he heard Nathan say from somewhere behind him, "was amazing." 

_Yeah. Oh, **yeah** ..._

Hercules found himself breaking into an almost hysterical grin. It _was_ amazing. Not the catch - hey, that was one of his specialties \- but the fact that his partner had, once again, cheated certain death, snatching hope from hopelessness, taking that extra step when a lesser man would have given up long before. He turned, cradling the brother of his heart against him with a tender confidence and a sense of wild joy. The joy that Iolaus gave him every day, the joy of _life_ \- and of living it, every moment. 

"You should see us on a good day," he quipped, striding across to where the hastily assembled watch had brought up a wagon, ready to receive the injured - or the dead. 

_None of those today_ , he thought gratefully, carefully perching the man in his arms on the wagon’s tailgate and letting him rest back against the side boards. Iolaus was already beginning to stir, dragged back from darkness by the bitter impact of the rain and the distress in his lungs. _Thanks to you, buddy..._

The hunter jerked awake - and immediately jackknifed into a hacking cough, his lungs heaving as he brought up gobbets of black phlegm and a spattering of blood. Hercules supported him gently, relieved to see some of the colour wash back across his features as he slowly regained his breath. "Easy," he advised with a warm grin. "You took in a lot of smoke." 

" _No..._ " Iolaus croaked, eyeing his partner with mock incredulity before breaking into a rasping giggle which rapidly deteriorated into yet more coughing. "Tell me," he gasped in between his desperate struggles for air, "something - I - _don’t_ \- know ... The kids!" His realisation was alarmed; Hercules held him in place with firm hands. 

"They’re fine," he announced, giving the man a warning look which had him slowly subsiding back against the supporting wood. " _Everyone’s_ fine." 

The House of Elysium choose that moment to complete its collapse; it crumpled in on itself with a resounding crash. The ground shook, and a great surge of flame reached for the sky, painting the air with brilliant light before it fell back into the glowing heap of debris. 

" _Told_ you those places were dangerous," Hercules observed, returning his attention to his partner and waving abstractedly for a waterskin. Iolaus quirked a tired smile. 

"So you did," he noted, his red-rimmed eyes dancing in the firelight. His face was streaked with soot, his hair was slick with moisture and ragged from the heat; blisters painted his skin and the soft black silk which clung to his legs was patterned with ragged holes where the fabric had succumbed to sparks. "Don’t think - this was - quite what you had in mind." 

"No," Hercules agreed, taking the skin that Nathan pressed into his hand and offering it up to his partner’s lips. Iolaus gulped a little down and then tipped his head back so that the stream of water cooled his scalded skin. The son of Zeus let it trickle out for a while then retrieved the waterskin and took a welcome gulp of his own. "You okay?" 

The hunter had closed his eyes and was concentrating on his breathing, drawing in the air with slow deliberate breaths. "Yeah," he nodded. There was a pause and then he added, softly: "Thanks." 

"You’re welcome," his partner grinned, reaching to squeeze his shoulder with friendly intent. Iolaus winced and Hercules pulled his hand back as if it had been burnt. Actually, it had - but not as badly as the raw blistered skin which it had just brushed against. 

"You’ll need to put something on that," a rich, contralto voice observed somewhere to his right. Hercules turned, to find himself looking at the oldest of the women he’d rescued from under the rugs. Her once carefully coiffered hair now hung in tumbled disarray around her strongly sculptured features, the dark ringlets gleaming with hints of silver in the still flickering light from the fire. She would be a striking woman in any circumstances and, even smoke streaked and half soaked from the rain, she radiated a presence it was difficult to ignore. 

"Hey, Helena," Iolaus wheezed, opening one eye and greeting the woman with a grin. She grinned back. 

"Hey, hero," she answered, reaching past Hercules to catch the hunter’s chin and turn his face towards her. "You look like you need another bath." 

He giggled - which was a mistake, since it sparked another round of coughing. "You - volunteering?" he asked, only half in tease. She laughed, shaking her head and glancing towards Nathan who was busy handing out more of the bulging waterskins. 

"I’ve already got someone lined up to scrub _my_ back," she considered knowingly, then dropped the bantering air and moved a little closer. "You saved our lives back there, Iolaus. I just want you to know \- " 

"Herc was the one that got you out," Iolaus corrected her, his voice weary and his look resigned. Helena glanced from one hero to the other and her lips creased in a determined frown. 

"I know," she said. "And believe me, we’re grateful. But _you_ were the one that recognised the danger, roused us from our beds, remembered about the hypercaust - went _back_ for the children. Don’t sell yourself short, hero. If you didn’t have a place in the _real_ Elysium before - then you’ve earned yourself one tonight." 

_Tonight and many other nights_ , Hercules thought to himself, then announced, a little more fiercely than perhaps he’d been intending: "He can _earn_ as many places as he likes. Just as long as he doesn’t end up _claiming_ one. Not until I can get Hades to owe me another favour or two," he added, softening his voice and dipping away from the look in his best friend’s eyes. Iolaus put out his right arm and casually draped its weight over the demi-god’s shoulder. 

"Helena," he grinned, surreptitiously flicking his thumb at the back of Hercules’ neck in teasing acknowledgement of heartfelt sentiment which he’d just expressed, "meet my best friend. Hercules. Who may be the son of Zeus, but just _has_ to keep reminding me that I’m as mortal as the next guy." 

_You scared me back there, buddy ..._

Iolaus knew that. What he _didn’t_ know was that his partner was the one responsible for putting him in danger in the first place. 

Helena was smiling at them both. "You know," she pointed out softly, looking from one to the other. "Right now he _is_ the next guy. Thank you. Thank you _both_. From the bottom of my heart - with _all_ my heart - I just don’t know how to thank you enough." 

There was a sharp crack and the last part of the last wall standing collapsed into the fire. All that remained of the once proud House of Elysium was the stone built bath-house, which now stood stark against the skyline. "Gods," Iolaus breathed, as if, only now, he’d begun to realise the extent of the damage. "Helena, I’m so sorry. Everything you had ..." 

She shook her head, rejecting his sympathy with determined eyes. "Everything I valued in that place," she said, "is standing right over there." Her nod was towards the huddle of young women whom the townsfolk were busy wrapping in blankets and fussing over with neighbourly concern. "We can rebuild everything else. There’s been a House on this hill since before I was born into it - and by the gods, there’ll be a House here again. I swear." 

_She was born here?_ Hercules’ eyes drifted across to locate Nathan’s burly figure in the firelight. The innkeeper was busy organising a damage limitation party, getting men with poles and rakes to heap wet soil onto the edges of the blaze. Perelion was standing nearby, watching the proceeding with a sour look on his face. "Helena?" the son of Zeus inquired, struck by sudden inspiration. "Have you ever considered running for Magistrate?" 


	4. Chapter 4

The morning arrived gray and overcast. A pall of smoke still lingered over Iphrus, but the heavy, thunder filled rainclouds had finally dispersed, leaving only ragged remnants of themselves to overshadow the town. Hercules woke just after the dawn and eased himself carefully out of bed, doing his best not to disturb its other occupant. Iolaus was sleeping the sleep of the just - or possibly the sleep of smoked and scalded heroes - his blistered body carefully painted with tinctures of Adder tongue and Linseed and wrapped in strips of soft white linen. His face had gone an interesting shade of red under its patina of healing pastes and lotions, and his hair looked even more ragged than usual, the scorching heat having, in places, sizzled a good inch or more from his flame frizzed locks. But he was alive, and that fact alone was reason enough to celebrate. His skin would heal, his hair would grow back - and he would have another tale to tell, among the many he had survived to relate. 

_Sleep well, my friend ..._

Hercules’ own blisters were fading fast. His lungs were still sore and his eyes still held a hint of rawness that made him blink in the early daylight, but those too would pass, leaving only memories of the night before to haunt him. 

They were not good memories; they reminded him of unfinished business and his own part in the potentially tragic events which had played out in the night. A misspoken word, an ill considered phrase - that’s all it had taken; and his speaking it, without thought, without consideration of its consequences, had almost cost his best friend’s life. 

He was thinking about consequences as he descended the stairs; how even the simplest thing can lead to major events in peoples lives. If he hadn’t been so stubborn the night before - if he’d just, for once, acquiesced to Iolaus’ suggestion and agreed to spend the night, rather than stalking off in search of the moral high ground ... maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe he’d have spent a disconcerted evening and an embarrassed night; maybe he’d have been the one to evict Jantis and his drunken cronies rather than being the one to inspire them to punitive action - and maybe they wouldn’t have dared attack the brothel so openly, so vindictively. Not this time, at least. 

He sighed, knowing that he was leading himself down tautological blind alleyways. Maybes were dangerous. He knew all about that \- knew how one simple action could cascade to become serious differences. The Fates wove as they thought best - but they could only use the choices and events they were offered to create the final patterns. _We make our own Fate_ , he’d told his father once, knowing he was right, but unaware of how complex the weave could be. Change one thing - and entire histories tumbled; in _this_ version of the pattern no-one had died. Who was to say that - in some other combination of warp and weft - the outcome would prove as favourable as it had in this one? 

The argument was unassailable - but it didn’t make him feel any better. He’d been the one to plant the suggestion of fire in Jantis’ drunken, angry heart - and by doing so had endangered the lives of innocent people, guilty of nothing beyond trying to survive in an imperfect world. 

Who was _he_ to judge them? The bastard son of a drunken, whoring, god, latest in the line of a whole pantheon of incestuous, self centred, amoral immortals - half of whom would have been busy _fueling_ the fire, not trying to put it out. 

_You’re Hercules_ , Iolaus’ voice muttered somewhere at the back if his mind, the words delivered with amusement, affection \- and absolute confidence. The son of Zeus smiled to himself, knowing that he would have to _have_ that conversation and soon - his partner deserved an apology and he was going to get one, whether he considered it necessary or not. 

"Good morning." Helena’s greeting was warm - and sultry, despite the homely domesticity of her surroundings. The simple dark blue robe that Nathan had found her to wear was draped around her like a court gown, the neckline pulled low and the waist belted high. She was going to be, Hercules decided, dipping to greet her with a brotherly kiss, one of those wonderful women who grow old disgracefully, and revel in it every step of the way. He suspected that Aphrodite would heartily approve - and he could hear his mother laughing at him - softly - for being disconcerted by such open, earthy sensuality. 

"Up so early, Hercules?" Nathan bustled through, carrying steaming platters of porridge which he placed in front of three bright, eager faces. The children seemed to be getting over their traumatic experience \- probably much faster than many of the others that the innkeeper had generously offered to shelter. "Thought you’d want to sleep in. You had a busy night." 

"Yeah," Hercules laughed, reassured by the way these people seemed to have just picked up and carried on with their lives. "But there’s something I need to do this morning. Besides," he added, catching Helena’s eye, "I hadn’t exactly expected to be _sharing_ my bed." 

Nathan grinned and Helena laughed delightedly. "Nothing wrong with a little company at night," she purred, her hand reaching out to stroke the innkeeper’s arm possessively. Nathan coloured a little. 

"Depends on the company," he murmured, bending to swipe vigorously at already gleaming table tops. 

"True," Helena allowed, eyeing Hercules up and down with speculation. "Remind me to give Iolaus a refund." 

Hercules took the bait, catching the challenge in her eye. "You don’t think I’m worth paying for?" 

She smiled knowingly. "Oh, scrumptious, you’re worth _every_ dinar, believe me. But the hero of the hour started with three and ended up with only one. That’s discount in anybody’s book - no matter _how_ divine the company." 

_Three?_

He’d been prepared for a risqué comeback - but he hadn’t been expecting that one. Then he realised she wasn’t exactly joking ... 

_He - he didn’t - **did** he?_

If Iolaus had bragged of such a thing to his face, Hercules would have responded with a mixture of stern disapproval and dumbfounded amusement; one barely-met stranger at a time was bad enough, but - _three?_ The prospect of such an arrangement would never occur to him, let alone his considering taking part in it - but the idea that his partner _might_ didn’t exactly surprise him. 

And the resultant mixture of outrage, affection exasperation and bemused disbelief went a long way towards explaining the look that chased across his face. 

Not to mention the images which had immediately sprung to mind ... 

Hercules felt the colour rise to his cheeks, a reaction not helped by Helena’s peel of laughter at having thoroughly disconcerted him. "Uh - yeah - umm - I - ah - gotta go," he announced, pointing at the door and seeking refuge in retreat. "See you later?" 

"Anytime," she murmured confidently, and he beat a hasty exit before she could make it a binding arrangement. 

Outside, he paused to collapse back against the white washed wall of the inn and allowed himself an embarrassed chuckle. _Oh, you handled **that** well, _ he decided, the thought filled with self irony. He was the son of Zeus, the strongest man in Greece - and he could be reduced to a flustered stutter by nothing more than a suggestive remark and a well intentioned compliment. 

He’d been raised to have consideration and respect for the fairer sex - and he managed both with all sorts of ladies, from stately queens, through simple peasants to Amazons and warrior princesses. Somehow, women like Helena had never quite figured in all his mother’s careful instruction and advice. But then - he’d never quite figured out how to deal with the Widow Twankey either. 

_Iolaus handles this sort of thing much better than me ..._

And _that_ thought inevitably set the laughter off again; he gave himself a little self determined shake, pushed himself upright and set off down the street, stifling the occasional giggle until he finally managed to get himself back under control. 

The laughter his partner inspired was always good for his heart, no matter what the reasons for it, and he arrived at the Magistrate’s office feeling a little less guilty and a lot more certain of his intentions. He might have made an off the cuff remark or two, but it had been Jantis who’d taken them and twisted them into unreasonable action. The young man had to face what he’d done; what he might have been instrumental in making happen. Hercules might have a few reservations about brothels, but absolutely none when it came to murder. 

He hesitated as he reached for the door, remembering the look of furious frustration which had painted Perelion’s face as the watch had herded his son and his associates towards the town lock-up. It had been hard to tell which had been more disappointing to the man - his son’s behaviour, or the fact that he’d failed to achieve his initial intention. Hercules had not missed the way the Magistrate had looked at Helena and her distraught charges as Nathan had shepherded them down the hill and into the safety of his inn. If he hadn’t been so concerned with making sure that Iolaus received the care and attention he needed - and a little in need of the healer himself - he might have followed the watch to make sure their prisoners had been suitably secured. 

_This isn’t going to be easy._

His life never was. He squared his shoulders and walked in through the door. 

"You’re too late, Hercules." 

Perelion was sitting behind his desk - a vastly ornate affair, all polished wood and curlicue carving. To be accurate, he was sitting with his feet up on the desk, the chair behind it tipped back to accommodate the pose. There was a wine jug nudging his knee and a goblet cradled in his hands. His face was haggard and his eyes haunted; he looked as if he’d been sat there most of the night. 

"Too late?" Hercules strode past him to stare down the passage at the narrow, barred cells his office guarded. All of them were empty. He swung back with suspicion and alarm. "Where are they, Perelion?" 

"Gone." The Magistrate took another swig from his goblet, and heaved a deeply felt sigh. 

"Gone? Gone where?" Anxiety began to tie a knot in the warrior’s stomach; he’d walked through a practically deserted town, most of its citizens sleeping in after the disturbance in the night. He’d left Iolaus in the arms of Morpheus - and if the inn were come under attack, Nathan would have his hands full ... 

"Just - _gone_ ," Perelion shrugged, the words resigned. "I told them to leave town. No," he corrected, sitting up and gathering a little of his determination. "I told them to get the Tarterus out of here. To hit the road and keep hitting it until Iphrus was nothing more than a bad dream." He stared at Hercules with defiant eyes, challenging him to condemn his actions. "You know why I’m Magistrate, Hercules? I took the job because I like ordering people around - and because I like the looks of respect they give me, whether they want to or not. It’s been a pretty sweet deal for me. Not much work and you get pretty good at looking the other way - when the colour of the money is right. Just a few righteous irritations in the barrel - like that do-gooder Nathan - and that witch on the hill. She never liked me - but I never wished her dead. You do believe that, don’t you?" 

"Yes," Hercules nodded, moving a little closer and looking down at the man with a sudden sense of pity. "I do." 

Perelion grunted, a sound trying very hard to be a laugh. "Well, that’s something." He paused for another gulp of wine. "Guess I’m not a very _good_ Magistrate. But I am a good father. I love my son. I’ve tried to treat him right. But he never listens - and he never stops to _think_. He’s not a bad kid - " The man stopped and thought about that, his face creasing into unhappy lines. "Actually," he admitted, "he’s a pretty lousy kid. He’s a thug, a bully, and a drunkard. I don’t know _who_ beat him up last night, but I know he deserved the lesson. I didn’t see any warlords lurking near the Elysium last night. Did you?" 

"No," Hercules shook his head, unable to help the smile that briefly curled onto his lips. "There wasn’t one. Just Iolaus." 

Perelion glanced up in surprise. "That little guy? _He_ did all that?" 

"You think he makes a living jumping off burning buildings? Iolaus is my partner. He’s been known to take on entire armies before now. Single handedly. I doubt if your son and his gang even made him break a sweat. Oh," he added, making it a small note of warning, "and - uh - word of advice? Don’t call him little. He doesn’t like it very much." 

"I’ll try to remember that ... Look," the Magistrate said, lifting his head to meet the demi-god eye to eye. "I know what Jantis did was wrong. And I know I should’ve punished him and - made him serve his time. But he’s my _son_. He’d just get in with a bad crowd in prison - become like some of the men I’ve had to put away this past year or so. He’s not a killer, Hercules. Not yet. At least this way he gets a second chance ..." 

Hercules heaved a small sigh of his own. There was no artifice in the emotion behind the man’s words. He’d done what he’d done because he loved his son. He’d been trying to save him from himself - knowing that, by doing so - he’d have crossed the line and betrayed his elected office. There was an odd kind of bravery in that. Even so - 

"If I hadn’t woken up last night," the warrior pointed out, as gently as he could manage, "we’d have been burying eighteen corpses today. Three of them children. They didn’t just fire the House, Perelion. They blocked the doors; locked everyone inside. I don’t know how that figures in your book, but in mine? That’s murder. Cold blooded murder. I know nobody died - but it wasn’t from lack of trying." 

Perelion grimaced into his wine, his shoulders slumping with resignation. "You going to hunt them down?" he asked wearily. Hercules thought about it. Thought about it very carefully. 

_How much of this **was** my fault? If I hadn’t said what I did ..._

_They were drunk. That’s no excuse, but - did they understand what they were doing? Did **I**?_

_What good would I do, going after them? And perhaps he’s right. Jantis made one mistake - a bad one, but - does he deserve prison for it? Could I live with what that would make him? What **I’d**_ _make him?_

He had no answers for any of his questions. But his sense of guilt grew stronger as he studied the man in front of him. One chance remark - a moment’s thoughtlessness - and the ripples of consequence were still affecting lives. Perelion’s among them. He was finished in Iphrus, and he knew it. 

"No," he said at last. "Iolaus and I have bigger fish to catch in Mysia. We’ll be losing a couple of days as it is, and we need to be there before the festival. Jantis can get his second chance - but if I were you? I’d pack up and go after him - before the people of Iphrus realise you were the one that let them go." 

He turned and walked away, leaving the man staring after him. "He’s my _son_ , Hercules. What else was I supposed to do?" 

It was a good question. 

One more he just didn’t know how to answer. 

* * *

It took three days to get the full story out of Hercules. Iolaus knew he’d been being evasive about events, but he hadn’t been able to figure _why_ exactly - and it wasn’t until he practically sat him down and demanded an explanation that he finally got one. 

They were back on the road by then, taking the main road into Mysia since they’d lost the time they would have needed to scout out the backways en route. Hercules had spent the majority of the first day helping the residents of the Elysium sift through the still cooling embers of their old home and when Iolaus had finally crawled, yawning from the realms of sleep, he’d been surprised - and relieved - to find his gear piled at the foot of the bed, rescued from where Sapphire had set it to air in the bathhouse. Not a lot else had survived it seemed; the girls had gleaned a few heat cracked gemstones from the wreckage, and recovered some of the tiles from the lobby as souvenirs, but the rest of the once proud House was nothing more than ashes. The hunter had slept through most of the day after the fire, so he’d missed a lot of the outcry and anger that had swept through town once it had become known that Jantis had gone missing. He had been awake the day after though - becoming a slightly bemused witness to Helena’s colourful inauguration as the new Iphran Magistrate. 

Bemused - and silent for most of the day, his throat and lungs still agonizingly raw from inhaling smoke and heat. Hercules had made a joke about finally finding a way to keep him quiet, and the remark had earned the demi-god a look laced with daggers and a thoughtful observation from Helena that - the way _she_ heard it - the hunter had much better uses for his tongue. Iolaus had still been grinning about that the following morning. Not so much because of what the newly appointed Magistrate had said, but more because of the interesting colour that Hercules had gone after she said it ... 

They’d left Iphrus soon after breakfast - a parting which had taken a little longer than their usual blithe farewells, since every one of the rescued women had insisted on bestowing a thank you kiss on their departing heroes. This, along with a grateful hug from three exuberant children, a firm warrior’s clasp from Nathan and a warm huzzah or two from the inordinate number of townsfolk who’d made it their business to be in the vicinity, had taken a considerable amount of time. Iolaus had the distinct feeling that at least two of the girls had added themselves back into the line but he’d not pointed that out to his partner, who’d been embarrassed enough by the proceedings as it was. The hunter had made his personal farewells to Jade, Sapphire and Poppy the night before; the three of them had giggled sweetly as they claimed their public kiss and he’d been unable to resist a final turn back and a jaunty wave before the inn - and the crowd still gathered in front of it - had completely vanished from sight. 

After that they’d walked in silence for a while, Hercules immersed in his thoughts and Iolaus busy sucking on one of the sweet herb and honey candies the healer had given him to help ease his scalded throat. It was good candy - and it helped him focus his mind away from an almost overwhelming desire to scratch. His blistered skin had begun to peel, leaving him vaguely piebald; patches of new pink skin gleaming almost white against the remnants of his tan. The bits that were neither white nor bronze were still an angry red - and all of it itched like crazy. 

The day was cool and overcast, although the worst of the storm clouds had dissipated the day before. Winter was drawing in and the heavy rains had left a pall of dampness over the countryside. Mud squelched underfoot and the landscape had a desolate, sorry look to it; many of the trees had reduced to skeletal nakedness, the last of their leaves stripped away by the storm, and those that hadn’t drooped under the weight of sodden, soggy branches. 

"So - what _did_ Jantis use?" Iolaus finally asked, breaking the silence which had begun to stretch beyond friendly and into _deliberate_. He knew Hercules was feeling guilty about something - something about the events that night had disturbed his partner’s equilibrium far more than the man wanted to admit - but he couldn’t imagine what it might be. He’d wondered, for a while, if the guilt had been born from that stupid disagreement that they’d had - which hadn’t really been a disagreement, just a pointless spat born from a difference in opinion and the exhaustion of a long day. He could see that Hercules _might_ feel guilty at not having been in the brothel when the fire started - which he would have been had he been prepared to step off his moral high ground and judge the place purely on its own merits - but that didn’t explain the way his eyes grew shadowed whenever Jantis’ name was mentioned, or why he hadn’t felt able to broach the subject the day before. 

_Talk to me, Herc. I know you want to ..._

"Use for what?" The son of Zeus could have been miles away; he blinked at both question and questioner, almost as if he’d forgotten he’d got company. Iolaus rolled his eyes briefly skywards. These kind of conversations were hard enough when talking was easy, but right now his throat was raw and even breathing too deep triggered a cough that took several minutes to subside. He was going to have to choose his words _very_ carefully. 

"To start the fire. The outer wood was wet, but it went up - " 

"Like dry tinder," Hercules completed, slowing his pace so he could regard his companion with wary concern. "He mixed corn oil with pitch ... Iolaus - you sure you want to talk about this now? I mean, you’re _croaking_ at me. You shouldn’t be talking at all." 

The hunter grimaced tellingly. " _You_ talk," he insisted, jabbing a finger to emphasis the point. "I listen. Herc," he added, giving the man his best plaintive puppy dog look, "there’s something you’ve been wanting to tell me, and you haven’t figured out how to do it and - " 

" _Ah!_ " Hercules ordered, thrusting out his hand and clamping it over his partner’s mouth. "Not another word. Okay?" He stared pointedly at the hunter, who’d made no move to escape the firm but gentle grip. " _Okay?_ " 

Iolaus stared back, watching until the stern challenge in his friend’s eyes softened into an affectionate plea. _Then_ he nodded, knowing that he’d won his case and that he’d get his explanation. Even if it had cost him the use of his voice for an hour or two. 

"Okay," Hercules breathed, removing his hand but remaining poised to replace it should the need arise. "You’re right. There _is_ something I’ve been meaning to tell you. About the fire." He paused, wrestling with an expression that held an equal mixture of guilt and regret. "I was the one that gave Jantis the idea." 

_What?_ Iolaus’ eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. Hercules’ hand tensed, ready to silence the outcry he was half expecting. The hunter took the hint; he clamped his mouth firmly shut again, and considered his friend with determined frown instead. _How so?_ his eyebrows asked above a look packed with challenge. There was no way he believed what he’d just heard - although, if it _was_ true, it was going to take a lot of explanation. 

The son of Zeus heaved a quiet sigh and let his hand drop back to his side. "He was drunk - I made a smart remark ... I didn’t even know he’d _heard_ it. But he did, and he took my advice, and - he dealt with his problems another way. Look - " he went on, turning away to raise both hands to the wilderness with frustrated appeal, "he came barging in to the inn, angry as Hades, complaining about some - seven foot warlord that had thrown him out of the House and ..." The glance he shot back in his company’s direction was both pained and apologetic. "I didn’t know _what_ to think. Were you in trouble, should I have been there ..." The glance became a sheepish grimace. "It wasn’t until something Nathan said, that I realised it was _you_ he was talking about." 

_Me._ Iolaus quirked a small grin, remembering the ease with which he’d demolished Jantis and his gang that night. _Seven foot warlord, huh?_ He shook his head, hastily suppressing an urge to giggle at the idea. If he giggled, he’d probably start coughing - and then Hercules would _never_ finish his explanation. 

All the same ... 

_**Seven** foot warlord?_ He really couldn’t let that one pass without comment, so he carefully pantomimed the difference between his own compact height and the reported one, lifting his eyes to consider his upraised hand as he did so. Hercules had to chuckle at his expression. 

"Yeah, I know. But I don’t think anyone had taught him that kind of lesson before. He was spitting mad and he wanted revenge. I should have _seen_ that. I should have realised ... Like I said, I made a smart remark - a thoughtless one - and he must’ve heard me because - when I got up onto the hill, there he was. Throwing the last of his fuel at the House and - " He paused to take another breath, staring at the sky in preference to meeting his friend’s eyes. "He told me I had - good ideas. Good _ideas!_ I - I ..." He trailed off, unable to find words which expressed the bemused anger and self recrimination that he was so clearly wrestling with. 

Iolaus put out his hand and swung the man round to face him, his eyes holding a mix of exasperation and sympathy. Hercules was beating himself up over _this?_ Over a casual remark, made off the cuff and without serious intent? Maybe his words _had_ planted the idea in Janitis’ head - but that hardly made him responsible for the fire. It hadn’t been his hands on the flint - and it certainly hadn’t been _him_ jamming a balk of timber up against the doors to prevent anyone from escaping. 

_Not your fault, Herc_ , he tried to convey, shaking his head in silent denial of his friend’s sense of guilt. Hercules mis-read the look. His eyes dropped and his face creased in distress. "If you - if _anyone_ had died," he admitted softly. "There’s no way I could have forgiven myself." 

_That’s why he let him go ..._

Iolaus had been wondering why Hercules had decided against pursing Jantis and his cronies. Why he’d been willing to let them vanish they way he had. They had tried to murder innocent, helpless women - _Hades_ , he grimaced wryly, _they nearly succeeded with **me** ..._ And yet the son of Zeus, whose sense of justice was second to none, had allowed them to make their escape almost without protest. 

_Some days_ ... The hunter breathed a silent sigh, knowing his best friend well enough to understand both his sense of guilt and his reasons for it; the son of Zeus - _being_ the son of Zeus - occasionally walked around with the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. It was too easy for him to assume responsibility in circumstances where lesser mortals would simply shrug and accept that - sometimes - things happened that were beyond their control. It didn’t help that he always expected the best from others, looking for the sparks of decency and compassion that he believed lay buried in every mortal’s heart. Iolaus knew better than that. Some people were just born rotten - and those that were tended to like being that way. Maybe Jantis did deserve a second chance - but having _given_ him one, there was no need for Hercules to go on nursing the guilt which had been the reason for it in the first place. 

_Okay. So how do I **tell** him that?_

He opened his mouth - then shut it again, his lips creasing together in mute frustration. If he spoke, Hercules wouldn’t listen to what he _said_. He’d be too busy hearing the raw whisper which would creep from his blistered throat, and they’d lose the thread of this argument in another one altogether. 

The answer dawned with a twinkle of mischief in sky-blue eyes and the hunter had to hurriedly suppress the grin that followed it, since that wouldn’t help his cause at _all_. If he couldn’t use his voice to convey what needed to be said, then he was just going to have to use the rest of him instead. And he used to be good at this, back at the Academy ... 

Iolaus tapped firmly on his friend’s shoulder to draw his attention. Hercules looked up reluctantly, his eyes haunted and his expression a troubled one. He found himself facing three fingers, held up with determined insistence. 

"Three?" the demi-god recognised, his despondent look collapsing into a puzzled frown. "Three what? Three leagues? Three days ago? Three bandits standing behind me?" The hunter rolled his eyes and firmly repeated the gesture; it took a moment or two for the dinar to drop. "Three \- _oh_. Three _words_. Uh - right. Okay ..." The acknowledgement held a note of bewilderment, the man clearly struggling to understand what relevance this had to anything. Iolaus frowned at him. 

_Pay attention here, Herc. I’m trying to tell you something important ..._

He folded down two fingers and wagged the third in front of his partner’s nose in unmistakable gesticulation. "First word," Hercules acknowledged warily, still looking puzzled. The hunter stepped back, unhooked his sword - dropping it and its scabbard to the ground to get it out of his way - then tugged free the belt which had been supporting it. He held it out, looping the longer end over the one with the buckle, pulled both ends in opposite directions and looked expectantly at his audience. 

"Knot," came the immediate, if bemused, identification. "Iolaus, I - " 

Two firmly presented fingers silenced him; their owner followed it with a deliberately exaggerated yawn. Hercules rolled his eyes skywards with matyred patience. "Yawn," he sighed. Iolaus hastily shook his head and pantomimed bringing his hands together to show he only wanted part of the word. The son of Zeus had begun relax into his stance, folding his arms in an _okay, so I’m going along with this but I really don’t know why_ kind of gesture. "Ya - awn - yaw... Yaw." He caught the nod of confirmation and straightened up again, finally realising that this _was_ relevant and not just some stupid game to distract his attention. "Knot yaw - ahuh - _not your ..._ problem? Concern?" 

It was Iolaus’ turn to roll his eyes skywards. 

_Oh, come **on** , Herc. You know me better than that._

"Third word." His friend was paying full attention now., which was just was well. This last one was likely to be tricky. 

The hunter paused for a moment, trying to decide on the best approach and absently scratching at a particularly itchy patch on his shoulder. "Hey - stop that," Hercules ordered, reaching across to knock his hand away. "That’s as bad as talking. Come on. Third word?" Iolaus frowned a little longer, then grinned to himself, and tugged briefly on his right ear. "Ah - sounds like? Like - uh - I told you to _stop_ that!" 

He danced out of the way as the son of Zeus put out his hand to slap him again, gesticulating encouragement as he went. "Stop - _sounds_ like stop? Oh - something _like_ stop. Okay - um - cease? Quit? Desist? Halt? _Halt ..._ Okay. Sounds like _halt._ " 

Hercules paused in his pursuit to frown over the puzzle. "Halt. Not your ..." Comprehension dawned. "Not your _fault_ , right?" Iolaus nodded, backing the confirmation with a look of affectionate sympathy. His best friend sighed. "Iolaus, I - " 

It was the hunter’s turn to slap _him_ \- pointedly, an impatient thwack on the shoulder which had begun to turn away from him, delivered with the back of his hand. When those steel blue eyes reluctantly returned to his, he reinforced his statement with pointed insistence, hammering each finger into the man’s chest. 

_Not._

_Your._

_**Fault!**_

The last impact would have been hard enough to bruise a common mortal; Hercules caught the hand which delivered the blow, his fingers wrapping firmly around its muscled wrist. "You mean that?" he asked softly. His eyes held anxious doubt, echoing his need to find _some_ way to forgive himself. Begging forgiveness from his friend; needing to be forgiven. Iolaus softened his angry glare back into warm comprehension. It wasn’t _forgiveness_ he was offering. 

Just complete and utter absolution. 

" _Course_ I mean it, you doofus," he croaked, then slammed his free hand against his mouth before his company could do it for him. _Sorry_ , his eyes said with contrite realisation. Hercules stared at him for a second or two - then, slowly, his lips curled into a warm smile. 

"Who you calling a doofus - _doofus_?" he demanded with mock ferocity. "You’re the one with the scalded throat. Stop _using_ it. And you can stop all that scratching too, or I’ll have to rope your hands together." 

_You wouldn’t ..._

The gleam that now sat in his friend’s eye suggested otherwise, and Iolaus - reading it - made a hasty attempt to escape. Hercules grinned and held on. Within moments they were wrestling in earnest, an exuberant tussle between controlled strength and spirited agility; to an outside observer it _might_ have appeared a remarkably even contest - had the Son of Zeus not tripped over the hunter’s abandoned sword and gone sprawling in the damp grass. 

Iolaus’ grin of triumph was brief; a long leg swept _him_ off his feet and the battle continued on the ground, the two of them writhing in the mud like a pair of otters at play. When it finally ended - with Iolaus stomach down on the ground and Hercules kneeling comfortably astride his shoulders lashing squirming hands together with the sword belt which he’d snatched up from the ground - the hunter was wheezing for breath in between fits of giggles. 

_Guess that’s - one way - to stop him feeling sorry for himself ..._

He might not always be able to argue his friend out of his darker moods - but distracting him from them was always a pretty good alternative. 

"Pax?" Hercules asked with a grin, hauling his partner back to his feet and dusting him down. Iolaus cautiously tested the seriousness of his bonds and then returned the grin with one of his own. That binding wouldn’t hold _Salmoneous_ for more than a few minutes - let alone an experienced hunter with a few tricks up his proverbial sleeve. 

_Pax_ , he agreed, mouthing the word and _trying_ to frown over it as he did so. The frown barely lasted a moment; he dissolved in another attack of giggles as Hercules grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a heartfelt hug. 

"Thanks," the son of Zeus murmured softly, packing the word with much more than gratitude. Iolaus coloured a little and ducked his head in reactive embarrassment. He never quite knew how to deal with these kind of situations. For one thing, he didn’t feel he _needed_ any thanks; and for another, he’d been taught at a very early age that those deep kind of emotions should be _kept_ deep - and not out on the surface for anyone to see. He’d learnt differently over the years - had learnt ways of expressing himself that his father would never have understood - but old habits are hard to break and sometimes his partner’s simple sincerity asked for more than he knew how to give. 

Normally - when this kind of awkward moment arose - he’d respond with a smart remark or a good-humored punch to the man’s stomach, letting the horseplay convey whatever needed to be said; Hercules could read between _those_ lines with consummate skill. Words, however, were currently banned from his bag of tricks - and that friendly punch was completely out of the question, what with his hands being lashed behind his back and everything. 

So his dipped that little bit further and gently head-butted the man’s shoulder instead, a playful nudge of acknowledgement that managed to say _hey, that’s okay_ along with _anytime_ , _don’t mention it_ and hopefully _don’t be such an idiot next time_ all in one go. Hercules got the message. His encircling arm tightened, just a little, and then he laughed and let go, striding away to snatch up the hunter’s fallen sword and head on down the trail. Iolaus stood there for a second or two, letting the impact of their shared warmth sink into his skin. 

"We’ll need a place to stay once we get to Mysia," the other owner of that warmth was saying thoughtfully, calling the thought over his shoulder as he walked away. "You think you can find us something suitable? Somewhere we’ll - ah - _both_ approve of?" 

It wasn’t quite an apology for their original altercation but then Iolaus didn’t need one of those; what it _was_ was an acknowledgement that maybe, just sometimes, they had different ways of looking at things - and that, maybe, just _maybe_ , Hercules’ way wasn’t always right. Perhaps it was just his way of saying something that usually went _without_ saying. 

_Love ya too, big guy..._

The hunter grinned, twisted his wrists out of the leather which held them and ran to catch up with his partner before he vanished from sight. 

* * *

_Disclaimer_

_No permanent damage was done to Iolaus’ lungs or throat during the course of this story. His skin stayed piebald for a while, but has now regained its normal, glorious tan. The House of Elysium is being rebuilt and will re-open for business shortly._


End file.
